


Murdoch Mysteries: Hogwarts Files

by Horatio13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Crack, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, One Shot Collection, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-08 10:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21474283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horatio13/pseuds/Horatio13
Summary: A shameless Hogwarts AU that nobody asked for.Each chapter is a one-shot.Lame title, I know.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 40





	1. The Sorting Hat

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody asked for this, but I don't question my muse when it strikes.  
NOTE: You may disagree as to how I sort the characters! That's fine! This is just my personal view on how they'd best fit into the Hogwarts houses, which, let's be honest, are pretty wide boxes anyway.
> 
> I DON'T OWN MURDOCH MYSTERIES OR THE HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE.

The Great Hall was completely packed, and William Murdoch was anxious for the Sorting Ceremony to be over. It was strange, he hated the ceremony, but he felt that the idea of houses was the greatest idea anyone had ever had in this school. To him, it was obvious that magic, like all disciplines, was best learned and best studied in an environment where others helped to facilitate that learning. What better way to study than with people who thought just like you did?

Up on the stage, Professor McGonagall called for a “Crabtree, George” to come forward. A skinny lad with dark messy hair shuffled onto the stage and sat down on the stool. The Sorting Hat was on his head for only a few seconds before yelling “Hufflepuff!” loudly. 

A pleased smile crossed Crabtree, George’s face, and wild applause erupted from the Hufflepuff table.

William watched him skip down across towards his new house-mates. He almost felt sorry for him, being sorted into Hufflepuff.

He was a proud Ravenclaw, through and through. Two years ago when he’d been sorted, he’d been praying for the hat to put him in Ravenclaw, and he was glad it did. He didn’t know what he’d do if he was in any other house. Slytherin he might have been able to stand, maybe even Gryffindor, but definitely not Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff meant that you weren’t smart enough for Ravenclaw, or brave enough for Gryffindor, or ambitious enough for Slytherin. Hufflepuff meant that you weren’t good enough for anyone else. William always felt a little bit sympathetic for the Hufflepuffs.

He glanced at the stage, where a ditzy-looking first-year named Higgins had just been sorted into Gryffindor. William clapped politely along with the rest of the students, but his mind was elsewhere. He was trying to memorize the recipe for Veritaserum so that he could brew it without having to borrow the book from the library, which would attract suspicion from Madam Pince.

_ Bicorn horn, lacewing flies, skin of Boomslang… _ He could remember the ingredients, but when it came to the steps, his memory was a bit foggy. He’d have to try to bring up the mental image of the page of Snape’s book he’d seen open on the professor’s desk.

At the Gryffindor table, the prefect Thomas Brackenreid was trying to get all of the second-years to settle down. “Oi!” he whispered sharply, trying not to attract attention from the professors at the front. “Shut it, the lot of you, or we’ll get house points deducted before classes even start!”

The new kid, Higgins, was quite obviously an idiot. There was no doubt about it, and Thomas sighed knowing that he’d have to deal with that fool and his probably stupid ideas. And there were all the rest of the Gryffindors to worry about too.

He ran a hand through his red hair. This would be tough, really tough. Up until that point, he hadn’t really considered what being a prefect meant. He wasn’t just a student anymore; he was a  _ leader. _ One that the underclassmen would look up to as their guide. He was a role model now, and, honestly, that scared him.

_ It’s not all bad, _ he reminded himself with a grin.  _ Margaret’s a prefect too. _ He glanced at the pretty brunette who he’d had a crush on since he saw her in first-year. Things couldn’t be that bad.

Across the hall, Julia warmly welcomed Emily Grace, the newest Slytherin, to the table with a smile. “Sit by me,” she said, scooting over so that the girl could sit down. Julia always felt protective of the younger girls in her house, because she knew what it was like to be them. When she was a first-year, she was all alone: the only girl ambitious enough to be sorted into Slytherin. She was proud to don the green and silver crest on her robes, and she’d learned to ignore the stigma that came with the house. But she knew that brand new first-years hadn’t learned that lesson yet. She sighed in sympathy. They would be in for a rough time. Julia hated the prejudice Slytherins faced, hated that to the small minded, she and all her friends were all evil, dark witches and wizards destined for Azkaban. She didn’t deny the history of the house, but she knew that most Slytherins weren’t evil in the slightest. Having grand ambitions did not determine someone’s moral character.

She glanced quickly at Emily, and smiled again. She decided that no matter what, she would be there for her.  _ Slytherins stick together, _ she thought.  _ And I am no exception. _

George Crabtree sat down at the Hufflepuff table, surrounded by strangers that would inevitably become his new friends. They had to, right? It wasn’t as if anyone from any other house would want to be friends with him, the awkward Muggle-born wizard. He was glad he’d been sorted into Hufflepuff; they seemed to be about the only house that would truly accept him, no questions asked. He glanced at the unfamiliar faces around him. These were his people, right? They all seemed friendly enough. He looked down at the table, feeling his face go red. All he wanted was to blend in and fly under the radar. He never fit in back home, and he would do anything to make sure that he fit in here.

He tried to swallow the ball of anxiety in his throat.  _ Remember what Aunt Primrose said, _ he instructed himself.  _ It’s a new beginning, you can start over. _

When he was up on the stage, sitting on the stool, he could see everyone in the Great Hall all at once. Every single student, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. A few caught his eye, an intense-looking blonde girl wearing Slytherin green, a redheaded Gryffindor prefect looking doey-eyed at the other brunette prefect, a dark-haired boy in Ravenclaw who looked like he was thinking very hard about something very important. Everything seemed so surreal up there. And now… it felt smaller, somehow.

George took a deep breath. He’d dreamed of the supernatural all his life, hoping, wishing that it was true. Now that it was, what was he supposed to do?

_ What if I’m no good at magic? What if they made a mistake, and they kick me out?  _ He closed his eyes.  _ Not now. _ He couldn’t panic now. Everything would be fine, he decided. He’d work hard. He’d try his best to be the best wizard he could be.  _ After all, _ he thought.  _ What’s the point of getting your dream come true if you let it slip through your fingers? _

On the stage, at the head of the table, the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, smiled into his beard. He could tell that this was going to be a very interesting year indeed.


	2. The Hospital Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoch meets Crabtree, George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the people who've read this horrible idea of mine!  
Next instalment will have actual mystery solving, so hang in there for that.
> 
> I DO NOT OWN MURDOCH MYSTERIES.

William groaned. He didn’t want to lie on his back all day. If only Watts, his potions partner, hadn’t been so clumsy, then the cauldron wouldn’t have exploded and William wouldn’t have had to spend the rest of the day in the hospital wing with angry boils all over his arm. To make matters worse, Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t allow him to move his arm at all, meaning he couldn’t finish the three-foot long essay he needed to write for Arithmancy. All he could do was stare at the ceiling and count the knotholes in the boards.

_ Twenty-nine…thirty...thirty-one… _

The door opened, and a boy shuffled in, crying and covering his face. “Madam Pomfrey!"

William glanced at him. "She's not here," he supplied matter-of-factly. "She went out."

The boys eyes went wide, and what William could see of his face paled. "Did she say when she'd be back?" He asked.

"No," William answered.

The boy was wearing the yellow robes of a Hufflepuff, and his messy hair identified him as the Hufflepuff he'd seen at the Sorting Ceremony.  _ Crabtree, George. _ He was clearly trying to cry less, or at least cry in a less obvious way.

"What happened?" William found himself asking.

Crabtree, George sniffed, and in response, took his hands away from his face.

William winced. He'd definitely been hit by a pretty nasty jinx. The boy's face had swollen to twice its normal size, making his features barely recognizable. Tears streamed down his bumpy cheeks and his eyes met William's hopelessly.

"Well," William said slowly. He cleared his throat. "It doesn't look too bad."

Crabtree, George broke down again, flopping onto a cot dramatically, sobbing.

William was at a loss. Why was he crying? This wasn't a big deal, they could just fix it and he'd be on his way. "Don't cry, Crabt-" he stopped himself before saying  _ 'Crabtree, George.' _ "Look," he stuttered. He wasn't really sure how to go about this. Emotional support definitely was not his strong suit. "They hit you with the stinging hex?"

George slowly nodded.

William grinned. "Then maybe we won't have to wait for Madam Pomfrey." He pulled out his wand (black walnut with a unicorn hair core) and brandished it with a grin.

George frowned, or at least, moved his puffy features in a way that resembled a frown. "What are you going to do?"

"Counter-hex," William explained.

"You know the counter-hex?"

William nodded. "I read about it."

"Have you ever done it before?" George asked.

"Well," William's cheeks grew warm. "No." He admitted sheepishly. "But I can do it, I know I can." And then words came flooding out, pouring out of his mouth like vomit. "I'm top of my class, and Charms isn't my best class, but I'm still capable and I promise I'll be careful-"

"Okay," George said.

Murdoch stopped, blinking in surprise. "What?" He asked.

"I said okay,"

Murdoch was completely taken aback. "O-okay?" He stammered. "You mean you'll let me do it?"

"Sure," George replied. "I trust you."

This was too much for William. "You just met me!" He exclaimed. "You don't know anything about me! How can you trust me?"

George shrugged. "It's a Hufflepuff thing, I suppose. We're a trusting sort of bunch."

This still didn't make logical sense to William, but he shook his head and gripped his wand tightly.  _ Remember, _ he thought.  _ Firm hand, confident incantation. If you mess it up, you might mess up Crabtree, George's face forever. No pressure. _ With a flick of his wrist, he said the counter-hex, and bit his lip nervously.

George's face immediately started to shrink, getting less tight and puffy with each second.

Murdoch breathed a sigh of relief.

George smiled.

And then his face turned a loud shade of purple.

"You should have waited for me!" Madam Pomfrey chastised the boys, examining George’s face and sighing heavily.

“Sorry Madam Pomfrey,” William and George chorused together.

“It wasn’t his fault,” William added, glancing at the floor. “I messed up the counter-hex.”

“But I let him!” George piped in. “If there’s any blame, then it’s my fault!”

Madam Pomfrey held up a hand in surrender. “All right, all right,” she said, moving towards her bookshelf to try to figure out exactly what the lad had done wrong and how to fix it.

The boys glanced at each other, grinned, and burst out laughing.

“Sorry about your face,” William apologized, giggling.

George smiled a lopsided grin. “Well,” he said. “I don’t know, it might be an improvement.”

William chuckled.

“I didn’t catch your name,” George said after a moment. “That is, if you want to throw it.”

“I’m William Murdoch, Ravenclaw house,” William recited. It was his standard reply.

George grinned. “George Crabtree,” he said, stretching out his hand towards William. “Hufflepuff house,” he added with a smirk.

The two boys shook hands.

What followed was one of the most interesting interactions William had ever had. Talking with George Crabtree was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. George’s conversation was fast-paced and colourful, whizzing from one topic to another like a hummingbird flying in a flower garden. His prose was dizzying, and his energy was boundless. William found it surprisingly enjoyable.

George's ideas were fantastical, but interesting nonetheless. He wondered about werewolves, goblins and leprechauns, and was elated when William confirmed their existence. He asked mind-boggling questions that left William at a loss for words.

“Why do wizards have locks if we have  _ alohomora?” _ George asked.

“Why isn’t obliviating someone bad?” George asked moments later. “Or legilimency? Why is the Imperius curse bad, but wiping someone’s memory or reading their mind isn’t?”

“Why do animagi need to be registered?” was George’s next question. “Why not potion makers? Or legilimens?” he didn't wait for a response. "And why is becoming an animagus regulated? Why isn't transfiguration?"

"I don't know, George." William said, finally able to get a word in. "I haven't had any time to think about it."

George blushed. "Sorry," he said. "I ask too many questions. That's what my Aunt Ivy always says." He put on a high pitched voice and imitated his aunt.  _ "You ask far too many questions, George Crabtree!" _

"You'd make a decent Ravenclaw," William observed. "Knowledge starts with questions."

George smiled. "Well, I don't think I'm quite smart enough for Ravenclaw." He laughed. "Not smart enough for Ravenclaw, not brave enough for Gryffindor, and not motivated enough for Slytherin."

William frowned. That was his exact sentiment about Hufflepuff. Or, at least, it had been. Hufflepuffs were, as he saw it, somewhat useless. Pleasant, and friendly, but not particularly useful. But he couldn't say that about George. Sure, he'd only known the boy for less than an hour, but he could tell that George had a spark. He was more than just a friendly face, he was a real person, with hopes and dreams, ambitions and fears. Perhaps Hufflepuffs weren’t so useless after all. William smiled to himself. He liked this George Crabtree, he decided.

That’s when the doors to the hospital wing burst open, and Thomas Brackenreid, one of the Gryffindor prefects sprinted inside, panting to catch his breath. He glanced at William. “You’re William Murdoch?”

William exchanged a look with George. “Yes,” he said.

Thomas ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I need your help.”


	3. The Broken Broom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas' broom has been snapped in two, and William and George intend to find out who's responsible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I finally got done exams this week so I had time to chug this out.   
Side note: I am sort of taking liberties with the timelines, especially with the ages of the characters. I also realize that during the Murdoch Mysteries time period, the Hogwarts staff would definitely not be the same staff seen in Harry Potter, but I'm going with them anyways for simplicity's sake.  
Thanks for reading and for your kind words and comments! It means a lot to me that people would actually want to read my garbage ideas, so thanks so much.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN MURDOCH MYSTERIES OR HARRY POTTER.

After Madam Hooch had shooed him out, Thomas had slipped the boys a letter at breakfast the next morning.  _ Meet me outside the Great Hall after breakfast. _

After breakfast was over, William met George outside the Great Hall, underneath a suit of armour.

“Any idea what this is all about?” George asked him.

William shrugged. “I’ve no clue,” he said.

Thomas emerged a moment later.

“What’s this all about?” William asked. “What do you want from us?”

The prefect sighed. “I need your help,” he said.

“Why us?” George asked.

“Well,” Thomas smirked, crossing his arms. “I really only needed the Ravenclaw,” he said, jerking a thumb at William. “Rumor has it he found Snape’s missing potion last year. Even Dumbledore couldn’t find it.” He pointed at George. “You’re only here because I don’t trust you, and I don’t want you to spill any secrets.” He leaned in close to George. "So you'd better watch your tongue, Bugalugs, or else you might not have one anymore."

"Bugalugs?" George asked, finding the nickname far more offensive than the threat.

“Secrets?” William repeated, a little bit flattered. It was true, he had found Professor Snape’s missing vial of Felix Felicis, Liquid Luck, last year, but he didn’t really see it as that impressive. It had been obvious to him that whoever took it had to have been a second-year Ravenclaw or Slytherin; that was the only class that had potions at the right time to have the opportunity to take the vial. And really, when he found out that Slytherin was having tryouts for their Quidditch team that same week, it wasn’t too large of a leap to figure it out. Still, it felt good to be recognized. “What secrets?” he asked. 

Thomas shook his head, a lock of red hair bouncing on his forehead. “Not here,” he muttered. “Too many people will hear us. We need to talk somewhere else.”

George’s solution was immediately offered. “The kitchens!” he cried, a little too loudly.

A few students glanced their way, then carried on.

“I can get us in there,” George continued in a whisper. “You just tickle the pear, and you’re in.”

Thomas squinted. “How many other people know about that?” he asked.

George shrugged. “Most of the Hufflepuffs, I think,” he said, scratching his head. “But there’s never anybody in there, and I’m friends with some of the house elves, they can hide us.”

So, at three o’clock, the boys met outside the kitchens.

When he’d arrived, Thomas had pressed a bottle of Butterbeer smuggled from Hogsmeade into the boys’ hands. “Don’t tell Margaret,” he’d whispered. “I don’t need any of the other prefects to know.”

When they got inside and situated themselves at a small table, Thomas sighed, sipped a bottle of Butterbeer, and said, "Some ruddy Slytherin snapped my broom."

William and George, seated across the table from him, exchanged a glance.

“How do you know it was a Slytherin?” William asked.

“It bloody well wasn’t a Hufflepuff,” Thomas retorted, taking a drag from his bottle. He glanced at George. "No offense."

"None taken," said George, though, if he was being honest, he was a  _ tad _ annoyed that people kept using his house as the butt end of jokes.

"Do you have any clues or anything?" asked William. 

Thomas squinted. "I have a hunch,"

"Those can be unreliable," William warned. "So I wouldn't rely on it. What is it?"

Taking a long drag from his Butterbeer, Thomas swallowed loudly and placed the bottle on the table with a clack. “Well,” he began. “I’m on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, keeper, you know.”

George nodded. “I saw you play against Slytherin last week,” he said, a big smile on his face. “I thought you were really good. I was impressed that you managed to pull off a Double-Eight Loop.”

Thomas suddenly looked at George with a new interest. “You’re a Quidditch fan, Bugalugs?”

George nodded. “It isn’t nearly as fun to watch as hockey or wrestling,” he said. “But it is exciting.”

Thomas grinned. “I love Muggle sports,” he said. “They’re so much more physical than the wizard sports. I like to see the players really having to work hard to succeed, you know?”

“You ought to see the hockey team from where I live,” George said excitedly. “They’re the best in the league, they have-”

“If I might get us back on task,” William interjected, clearing his throat. “You were saying-?” He flashed them a pointed stare.

Thomas blinked. “Right,” he said. “Well, as you know, last week, we played against Slytherin, and we won.” He took a breath. “After the match,” he said. “Their keeper said something a bit off to me, and three days later, my broom shows up, snapped in half.”

“What did he say?” asked William.

“She,” said George.

“What?”

“She,” he repeated. “The Slytherin keeper is a girl, Julia Ogden.”

Blinking, William shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “What did  _ she _ say?”

Thomas swallowed another gulp of Butterbeer. “She tapped me on the shoulder after the match,” he said. “And she said,  _ ‘Good match, you ought to try flying with a different broom, you never know when something might happen.’” _

William hummed. “So you think she broke your broom to sabotage you for the next game,” he surmised.

“That’s about it,” Thomas said.

Tapping his chin, William nodded. “That’s not a bad hunch, actually.” he said. “It’s plausible.”

“How would you figure out who did jt?” asked George, taking an experimental sip of the Butterbeer. He’d never had it before. He swallowed, his eyes widening, and quickly took another gulp.

“I’d need to search the Quidditch equipment rooms,” said William. “And I’d probably need to talk to the Slytherin keeper…” he trailed off with a frown.

“What?” asked Thomas.

“I’d need to search the Slytherin common room,” said William. “Which would be a problem.” He pointed to each of them. “Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, all the houses that aren’t allowed in the Slytherin common room.”

Thomas looked deep in thought. “Leave that to me,” he said. “I think I have an idea, but I’d need to test it out. Meanwhile,” he said. “You two go search the equipment rooms.”

“Right,” William nodded. “We’ll meet you in the Charms corridor tomorrow at seven thirty. Most people will be out for breakfast then.” He stood up to leave.

“Oi!” Thomas cried. “Hang on a moment, what do you want?”

“Want?”

“Your payment, you know,” said Thomas. “I mean, you’re using up your time for me. What do I owe you?”

William and George exchanged a look. “We don’t want anything,” said George and William nodded.

Thomas shook his head. “Don’t do that,” he said.  _ “Never _ work for free, lads. People’ll take advantage of you quicker than you can say  _ ‘lumos.’” _

Pausing for a moment, William swallowed. “How about this, then,” he said. “We’re helping you, so you need to help us at some point in the future.”

“I’m indebted to you,” Thomas mused. “Classic, clean, simple.” He smirked. “I like it.” He held out both hands to the two boys. “Shall we make it official?”

George and William took his hands in theirs, and together, they all shook.

"Ooh," George said, wincing. "That broom is definitely out of commission."

The broom was snapped completely in half, with splintered edges and broom hairs lying loose everywhere.

"A Silver Arrow 700." He whistled. He'd give anything for a broom like that. "It's a shame," sighed George. "It really is a great broom."

"George," said William. "Stay on task." He'd examined each and every single broomstick in the Quidditch equipment room, trying to find something, anything that might be of importance. So far, the only thing he’d found out was that the broom maintenance skills of most Quidditch players were subpar at best. Broom hairs stuck out in all angles, the edges frayed and the shaft smudged and in need of a polish. Their uniforms weren’t much better, covered in dirt and smelling strongly of sweat and the outdoors. He sighed. There wasn’t much to find here. He glanced over his shoulder and called to his partner. “What have you, George?” he asked. He blinked. He liked the sound of that,  _ what have you, George? _ It had a nice ring to it. He might use it again.

George’s head peeked out from under a bench. “Not much, I’m afraid,” he said. “Just a few odds and ends, some broom hairs, owl feathers, and...this potion recipe was right where the broken broom was.” He waved a scrap of parchment in the air.

William’s ears perked up at the word potions. “Let me see it,” he said, walking over and taking the paper from George. He read a bit of the note.

  * _Add salamander blood until the potion turns red._
  * Stir until the potion turns orange.
  * Add more salamander blood, this time until it turns yellow.
  * Stir until the potion turns green…

“This is a recipe for Wiggenweld potion,” he said.

“That’s a first year potion,” said George. “We learned it last week.”

William looked at the note again.  _ “Very _ nice handwriting,” he observed. “Probably not a boy’s,”

“Well,” George said. “It has to be a Quidditch player’s,” he said. “Nobody else would come in here.”

Nodding, William smiled. “Very good, George,” he said.

George beamed, feeling very pleased. “We’d need a way to figure out who’s handwriting it is,” he said. “Then we can figure out whose it is.”

William lit up. “The uniforms!” he cried. “They’ve all written their names on the insides! We can figure it out from there!”

George stared at him in amazement. “You’re a genius, William Murdoch,” he said.

It was William’s turn to feel pleased. “Thank you, George,” he said.

After several minutes of comparing loops on L’s and dots on I’s, the boys looked at each other excitedly.

“It’s a match,” said William, holding a green keeper uniform in his hand.

George couldn’t conceal his eagerness. “Are we going to get Julia Ogden busted? Bust into Slytherin and make her give the broom back?” he asked.

William tried to hide his amusement. Being around George was like being around an excitable puppy, and he got the sudden mental image of George as a tiny black labrador, rolling around in the sand and getting it caught in his fur. “We don’t exactly have enough to  _ bust _ her,” he said. “Yet.” he added with a grin. “Hopefully we find out more if Thomas manages to find a way to get us into the Slytherin common room.” He stood up and patted George on the shoulder. “Good work,” he said. “You’re actually pretty good at this.”

George’s lopsided grin was equal parts odd and endearing. “Well,” he said. “You know what they say about Hufflepuffs: we are particularly good finders.”

The next day, all three boys met in the Charms corridor. William and George explained their find, and Thomas nodded.

"My hunch was right, I expect," he said. "I can't wait to see the look on Miss Ogden's face when I get my broom back."

"We still can't say for sure that it's her," said William. "We'd need to search the Slytherin common room."

"Lucky for you," said Thomas. "I think I may have figured something out." He pulled out his wand from his back pocket. "Our two problems," he said. "Are that we aren't Slytherins, and we don't know the password to get in. But," he said, smiling. "We don't need a password if we're small enough to fit under the door." He pulled out a crumpled ball of parchment and tapped out with his wand.  _ "Reducio." _ It shrank down to the size of a pinhead.

"Is that safe?" Asked George. "On a person, I mean?"

Thomas nodded. "Should be. I tried it on myself earlier, I'm still in one piece."

"But won't they all be able to tell we aren't Slytherins?" Asked William.

Thomas' grin widened, and he pointed his wand at William's uniform. "Been working on this transfiguration all day," he said proudly. After saying the spell, William's blue robes changed to green, and even the embroidered crest changed from an eagle to a snake.

"There," said Thomas. "You're a proper Slytherin now," he winked at William. "It's not permanent, don't worry." He waved his wand, and all three boys were wearing Slytherin green. “There we are,” he said, smirking. “Let’s break into Slytherin, shall we?”

Julia Ogden curled up on the sofa, her textbook resting on her lap, completely alone, or, almost. She glanced across the common room at the only other person in the common room, James, the quiet first-year, staring out the windows into the lake. She wished she could tell what he was thinking. The poor boy didn’t have many friends; most of the Slytherins ignored him, and most of the other houses hated him, it seemed. Julia felt bad for him.

“What is it, Julia?” asked James suddenly, startling Julia. He smirked slowly. “I can feel you staring at me from over here.”

“Well,” said Julia, her face flushing. “I was just…” she sighed. “Are you lonely, James?”

He paused for a moment. “No,” he decided. “Should I be?”

Julia shook her head. “No,” she said. “As long as you’re alright with being alone, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m not alone,” he chuckled. “I have friends.”

“That’s good.”

He went on. “I have one friend who I’m quite close to, Robert, he’s a Gryffindor, do you know him?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she said with a smile. “But that doesn’t matter. As long as you’re happy, it’s fine.”

His teeth shone in the firelight. “I am happy,” he said. “Thank you for asking, Julia.”

Suddenly, three boys appeared out of nowhere, as if they’d burst from the ground. Julia didn’t recognize them, except….

_ Oh. _ She did recognize one of them. Thomas Brackenreid, the keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She rose to her feet, pulling her wand out from behind her ear and pointing it at them threateningly. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “You aren’t Slytherins, get out.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Gentlemen,” he said, glancing at his companions. “This ray of sunshine is Julia Ogden, keeper of the Slytherin Quidditch team.”

William looked at her, and he couldn’t take his eyes away. She was prettier than he’d imagined her to be. Judging from Thomas’ attitude, he’d imagined her to be about six feet tall, burly, and brown-haired. The girl standing in front of him was none of those things. She was slim, dainty, even, with delicate blonde curls tied up in a practical knot. Her face was like a China doll’s, or, at least, it would be if she wasn’t holding it in the fiercest glower that William thought he’d ever seen.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated through gritted teeth.

Thomas glanced at George, who gently elbowed William in the arm.

Blinking, William cleared his throat. “We, er…” He trailed off.  _ Why were they here again? _ He thought. His mind had gone fuzzy. He just wanted to keep staring at her.  _ She’s very pretty- stop. Don’t think about that, you have business here, she might be a thief. _ He shook his head and started over. “We’re here to investigate.”

She looked vaguely amused. “Investigating, huh?” she asked, resting one hand on her hip. “What are you investigating, exactly?”

“Stop playing games, Ogden!” snapped Thomas loudly. “You know very well that you stole my broom after last week’s match.”

Julia laughed dryly, without any humour at all. “Of course,” she said, smiling sarcastically. “Your broom goes missing, so it  _ must _ be the Slytherin! How  _ original!” _

“Not a huge leap, if you ask me!” cried Thomas, crossing his arms.

“Hey!” George stepped in between the two of them before they decapitated each other, or worse. “We didn’t assume it was you!” he cried. “We found a note with your handwriting on it right where the broom was last seen.” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. “That’s yours, right?”

She took it, and examined it after one last withering glare at Thomas. She nodded after a second. “That’s my handwriting,” she said.

“Then you were there when the broom was taken,” William said.

She held up a finger. “I said I  _ wrote _ the note,” she said. “I didn’t say it was mine.”

“But you wrote it,” protested William. “It must be yours.”

She shook her head. “I tutor a few first years in Potions,” she explained, handing the note back to George. “I write out the recipes for them to study, this must belong to one of them.”

“Hang on,” said Thomas, stepping closer to her. “You told me last week at the end of the match to try out a new broom because something might happen to mine. Why would you say that if you weren’t going to take it?”

She blinked. “I was trying to give you some helpful advice,” she said. “My own broom was out of commission for three weeks, and I had a  _ time _ trying to get used to those spares Madame Hooch has. I just wanted to warn you.”

Thomas squinted at her suspiciously.

“It must have been one of the first years I tutor,” Julia went on.

“But a first year wouldn’t be inside the Quidditch change rooms,” said George.

“You sure about that, Crabapple?” came James’ smooth voice from behind Julia.

George’s heart dropped to his heels.  _ James Gillies, _ he thought.

James sidled up closer to him, a malicious grin on his face. “Don’t think I wouldn’t recognize you, even if you’re in green instead of that god awful yellow,” he said. “You’re trying to solve mysteries now, huh?”

George’s gaze fell to his shoes.

James giggled. “Too bad you can’t even solve the problem that is you,” he said. “Good luck solving anything else.”

“Oi!” cried Thomas. “Five points from Slytherin!”

James eyed Thomas’ prefect badge in disdain. He rolled his eyes, and glared at George before retreating back to his corner.

“James,” snapped Julia. “Apologize.”

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

“You’re not my mother, Julia,” said James. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can’t,” agreed Julia. “But Professor Snape can, and I’m sure he’d agree with me that Slytherin’s image doesn’t need your brand of contribution.”

James scowled at her. “This  _ is _ Slytherin’s image,” he said. “This is what Slytherin stands for: being the best.”

“No.” The sheer power in her voice could have smashed a boulder in two. “Slytherin does not stand for putting others down to make yourself better. Slytherin is about striving to be the best you can possibly be. Slytherin is about aiming for perfection. That,” she said, motioning towards George. “What you did there, was far from perfect. Apologize, now.”

“No,” snapped James.

“So you’d rather live up to the stereotype?” asked Julia. “You’d rather be the cruel, bullying, evil Slytherin? Wouldn’t you want to challenge their expectations for once?”

He turned away without another word, and walked upstairs to his dorm. 

Julia glanced at him with a sigh. She turned and smiled at the boy he’d been making fun of, and mouthed the word  _ ‘sorry.’ _

George grinned back at her.  _ ‘It’s okay,’ _ he mouthed back.

Sighing, Julia turned back to the other boys. “Look,” she said. “I don’t know what happened to your broom,” she said. “I can give you a list of all the people I tutor, but that’s about all I can help you with. Now,” she took a breath in. “Would you please leave? You aren’t supposed to be here.”

George nodded. “That’d be nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

Julia smiled at him.  _ He must be a Hufflepuff, _ she decided. Unlike many at Hogwarts, she saw the value of Hufflepuff house.  _ It’s one thing to be clever or brave or have big ambitions, but the world is full of people, and if you can’t work with them, you can’t do anything, really. _ In her experience, Hufflepuffs were often the most well-rounded witches and wizards at Hogwarts. She grinned. “I only tutor a few students right now,” she said. “They… _ really _ need help.” she breathed.

“Who are they?” asked George.

Julia thought for a moment, remembering their names. “James Pendrick, he’s a Ravenclaw,” she said, counting on her fingers. “Terrence Meyers, and Henry Higgins.” she said. “Slytherin and Gryffindor,” she added.

“Not bloody  _ Higgins,” _ Thomas groaned, rolling his eyes.

“You know him?” asked Julia, grinning.

“We’ve crossed paths,” said Thomas testily. He sighed. “Come on, lads,” he said to George and William. “Let’s go.”

Julia stifled a laugh. “Good luck,” she said.

“Why are we here?” asked Terrence Meyers tiredly, leaning against the wall.

“Are we in trouble?” James Pendrick asked, looking worried.

Henry Higgins leapt up from the floor. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

Thomas held up a hand. “You aren’t in any trouble,” he said. “Don’t worry. Sit down, Higgins!”

Higgins sat on the floor.

Thomas had shoved the three of them, plus George and William into the boy’s washroom on the second floor. “This is William,” he said, motioning towards the Ravenclaw. “And this is George,”

“Hi, George,” waved Henry.

George grinned. “Hi, Higgins.” he said.

Thomas squinted at George. “You two happy dafties know each other?”

Henry’s face flushed bright red. “Happy dafties?” he repeated under his breath.

“We sit next to each other in Charms,” explained George.

“Perfect,” Thomas rolled his eyes. He cleared his throat and went on. “You all are here because you get extra Potions tutoring from Julia Ogden.”

They nodded.

“Well,” he said. “One of you seems to have lost your recipe for Wiggenweld potion,” he said, holding out the scrap of paper.

Terrence shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “I’ve got mine.” He sat back against the wall.

James Pendrick ruffled through his pockets for a second, then pulled out his own piece of paper. “I’ve got mine,” he said. “Good thing too,” he said. “I’d be finished in Potions today if I didn’t have Julia’s notes.”

Higgins raised his hand sheepishly. “Um…” he began.

Thomas let out a long, deep sigh. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “It’s yours.”

He nodded. “I must have dropped it,” he said. His face was red.

If it was possible, Thomas sighed his lungs inside out. “Crabtree, Murdoch!” he said after a moment of silence. “You can take Mr. Meyers and Mr. Pendrick out.” he glared at Henry. “Higgins and I are going to have a little chat.”

Henry gulped.

As he walked past, George whispered, “Nice knowing you,” to Henry before walking out with William, Terrence and James.

The second the door swung shut, Thomas stared at Henry with eyes that bored deep into his soul. “Did you take my broom, Higgins?” he asked.

And that's when Higgins broke down.

"I didn't mean to break it," he sniffed, after he'd calmed down a little bit. "I just…I just wanted to try it out." He gulped. "I wanted to see what it would be like to ride a really good broom."

"So you broke in and took my broom for a joyride." Thomas finished, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't know it was yours," Henry sobbed. "And I didn't mean to break it. I just wanted to fly over the forest. But when I got up there, I was going too fast, and it started going down…" his face scrunched up and he started crying again.

Thomas wanted to strangle him. He wanted to scream at him, force him to either fix the broom or buy him a new one. And he probably would have, but for an echo in his brain. He didn’t know why, but his mind had suddenly put forward the words Julia Ogden had spat in James Gillies’ face earlier:  _ ‘You’d rather live up to the stereotype? Wouldn’t you want to challenge their expectations for once?’ _

He suddenly was hit with the uncomfortable realization that he wasn’t anything more than a Gryffindor. That was his whole identity. He stood for everything Gryffindor house stood for. He acted exactly like how a Gryffindor was expected to act. That was how he saw himself: the perfect Gryffindor, the Gryffindor prefect, the Gryffindor Keeper. Brave, bold, courageous, daring, competitive, reckless, stubborn, proud, he was all these things. He was exactly what a Gryffindor was meant to be.

Now that he thought about it, being a perfect Gryffindor was a pretty shallow way to be.  _ What am I other than a set of personality traits?  _ He wondered. He was a caricature, a shadow. Meant to look like it, but a cheaper, faker replica.

He wanted to be more, more than his house, more than a Gryffindor. He wanted to be a real, actual person. He wanted to make decisions based on his own convictions, not based on what his house should decide. He wanted Gryffindor to be a part of his identity, but not his whole identity.  _ What kind of person do you want to be?  _ He asked himself.

And then he made his decision. He knew who he wanted to be.

He looked up, right at Henry. “All right,” he said. “The important thing is you didn’t get hurt.”

Higgins blinked, stopping his tears in surprise. “But, your broom-”

“I can get a new broom,” Thomas said. “You can’t get a new Higgins.”

Higgins sniffed, breathing a small laugh. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “What are you going to do for Quidditch?” he asked.

Thomas waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll use one of the spare brooms,” he said. “It’ll be a challenge for me to be amazing on a subpar broom, but I like challenges.” He smiled at Higgins. “I forgive you.” he said. “Just don’t do it again.” He stood up from the bathroom floor, chuckling to himself that he had a major moment of self-discovery in the second floor bathroom. “Come on,” he said to Higgins, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go to lunch.”

“So, you’re not mad at Henry?” asked George the next morning at breakfast.

Thomas shook his head. “No.”

“But I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be iron-willed,” said William. “How’d he change your mind?”

“He didn’t,” Thomas said, glancing across the Great Hall at Higgins, laughing with his other friends. “I just thought about what being a Gryffindor meant to me, and I decided that Gryffindors should give second chances.”

William nodded. “All right,” he said.

“Oh, by the way,” said Thomas, swallowing a mouthful of porridge. “I had an idea for how I can pay off my favour to you two.”

“How?”

He smirked. “I’ll help you out with your mysteries,” he said. “This was fun, honestly, the best time I’ve had since I got to Hogwarts.”

William glanced at George. “I think we’d love to have you,” he said.

George grinned. “Welcome aboard, Brackenreid.” he smiled.

“Make it official?” asked Thomas, holding out both hands.

The boys laughed, and they shook.

Across the Great Hall, James Gillies watched them sharply. He poked his friend. “They’re going to change everything, Robert,” he said.

Robert blinked, frowning. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Gillies crumpled up his napkin and threw it into the fireplace, watching it curl and burn. “It means,” he said. “That we need to make sure they don’t.”


	4. Boggarts: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When boggarts start terrorizing the students of Hogwarts, the gang takes matters into their own hands. Meanwhile, George forms an unlikely friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was getting long, so I decided to split it in two.  
Also, I'm going to be posting my artwork for this fic on my tumblr (arty-tardigrade). Go check it out if that seems like something you'd like. It's going to be illustrations from the fic, character portraits, maybe some comics, just stuff.  
Thanks for reading, stay safe, stay home and wash your hands!

Uneasiness hung through the halls of Hogwarts. The corridors were nearly dead quiet, the students bustling quickly to their classes and common rooms to avoid being out in the open for very long.

“This is ridiculous,” complained William Murdoch, ignoring the glances of alarm and edginess he earned from the other students. “Why is everyone so nervous to be in the hallways? Everybody knows that boggarts like small spaces. The hallway is the exact opposite place you would find boggarts.”

Thomas ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “It’s panic, Murdoch,” he said. “Everyone’s just afraid that they might come across one.”

Thomas, William and George stood at the top of a moving staircase, waiting for the right time for it to swing over. On the wall next to the staircases hung a notice, posted by the professors and staff at Hogwarts:

STUDENTS TAKE NOTE:

SEVERAL BOGGARTS HAVE BEEN SPOTTED ON HOGWARTS GROUNDS AND IN THE CASTLE. STUDENTS ARE ADVISED TO AVOID NARROW PASSAGES AND SMALL ENCLOSED SPACES. ANY AND ALL BOGGART SIGHTINGS ARE TO BE REPORTED TO HOGWARTS STAFF.

“Well, as long as everybody knows the Boggart-Banishing Spell,” said William. “We can all deal with them, fairly easily, I might add.” He glanced at George. “You remember how to do it, right?”

George nodded. _“Ridiculous,”_ he said earnestly. William had taught him the spell the minute the news first broke that the number of boggarts in Hogwarts castle had grown exponentially.

_“Riddikulus,”_ corrected William. “Ri-di-_kool_-os. Watch your pronunciation. You never know what might happen if you mess up a spell.”

Thomas leaned in to whisper to George. “I once gave McGonagall a tail trying to turn a mouse into a snuff box.”

George squinted. “You’re making that up,” he smiled.

“Am I?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, smirking.

They both giggled.

“At least it isn’t like last year,” William pulled down the cuffs of his sleeves. “Somebody let loose about twelve nifflers in all of the common rooms.”

Thomas groaned. “Oh, don’t remind me! I _still_ can’t find the emergency galleons I kept under my bed.”

“What’s a niffler?” asked George with interest.

William looked surprised.

George smiled, jabbing his thumbs into his chest. “Muggle-born, remember?”

“Ah, right.” William nodded. “Nifflers are little, burrowing creatures with a long nose—”

“Like a mole?” interrupted George.

“Yes, and they really like shiny objects.”

“They steal them and put them in this special pocket thing they have in their stomach,” finished Thomas.

George paused. “So…” he said, blinking. “Like a kangaroo mole?”

“That’s _one_ way to look at it, I suppose,” said William

The moment the staircase locked into place, at least fifty students piled onto it, packing in tightly.

“We better get on quick,” observed Thomas, stepping onto the stairs, William following on his heels. “Come on, Crabtree.” He glanced at the youngest of them, a frown forming. “Crabtree?”

George looked pale, taking a tiny step backwards as he stared at the mass of people crowding on the staircase.

William blinked. “Are you all right, George?”

“Uh…yeah,” George breathed, blinking, but not looking any better. “I’m coming.”

Thomas glanced at the group of students, clueing in. “Ah,” he said. “Murdoch,” he motioned towards the other students with a wave of his hand. “This staircase is a bit packed,” he said. “What say you we take the side staircase by Ravenclaw tower?”

“Why?”

Thomas elbowed him and jerked his head towards George.

William blinked. “Oh, _OH!”_ He practically jumped off the staircase to be at George’s side.

George grinned in relief. “You don’t have to do this for me,” he said. “We’re going to be late if we don’t take the moving stairs.”

“You’re right,” Thomas ruffled George’s hair with a smirk. “We _will_ be late if we don’t get a move on. Let’s go.” He gripped George’s wrist and pulled him along the corridor, with William following behind.

The side staircase was so out of the way and inconspicuous, you wouldn’t have known it was even there if you weren’t looking for it. It spiralled tightly around itself, with a wooden door on either end. The staircase was dimly lit by a few torches hanging on the walls, but the boys still had to squint to see the steps ahead of them. The staircase twisted so violently, the boys had to walk sideways in order to not trip and fall down the entire flight.

George sighed, relaxing his shoulders. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t like big crowds or tight places.” He grinned weakly. “It makes me feel like I can't breathe.”

“That’s quite all right, George,” said William, carefully watching his next step.

Thomas waved his hand in front of his face, grimacing. “Oof,” he said. “It smells in here.”

“I don’t think Filch has ever been in here,” William commented, gazing uneasily at a spider’s web hanging from the ceiling.

Suddenly, bright colours were everywhere, rolling and ducking all around them. The boys looked around, Thomas drawing his wand and George standing his ground as the passageway was suddenly filled with hundreds of butterflies.

“Bloody Hell!” cried Thomas in surprise, swatting at a bright orange monarch.

“Where did these butterflies come from?” asked George, ducking to avoid their wings.

William swallowed, looking very tense as he pulled out his wand, gave it a flick, crying, _“Riddikulus!”_

The butterflies immediately morphed into an army of tiny, clumsy parrots, squawking and wobbling around as they flew through the stairwell. One landed on George’s head, making him giggle, and the moment the laugh escaped, the parrots vanished like fog on a mirror.

Thomas and George glanced at each other, then at William, who was staring at his shoes.

“Those butterflies,” Thomas began. “They were a boggart?”

William nodded.

“Your…” George blinked. “Your deepest fear is butterflies?”

“No!” William cried, his voice a little too defensive for the others to believe him. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Again, Thomas and George exchanged a look before following William down the stairs.

After dropping William off at his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Thomas and George continued down the tiny spiral staircase to get to the third floor for George’s Charms class.

George held his breath, trying not to pant. He was never especially athletic, and he never really cared, but he did feel a bit embarrassed that he got winded going downstairs. “Thomas?” he asked hesitantly.

“Mmm?”

“What if there’s another boggart?”

Thomas let out a laugh. “I’m a fifth year, Bugalugs. You think I don’t know how to cast _Riddikulus?”_

George rubbed his thumb and fingers together anxiously. “I mean,” he began, wetting his lips. “What if I’m alone?” He swallowed. “What if I’m alone and I can’t do the spell? Or what if it doesn’t work?”

“Listen, Crabtree,” Thomas gripped George’s arm firmly. “It’ll work.”

Nodding, George sucked in a slow, deep breath. “But just say it doesn’t…”

“Crabtree.”

“It’s just that,” he sighed, clenching his fist to stop his fingers from rubbing each other. “I’m in Hufflepuff. I’m not brave or smart or anything. If I see a boggart, I’ll freeze, I won’t be able to do anything, and—” George’s eyes met the floor, his body tensed anxiously.

Thomas put a hand on his shoulder, looking warmly into George’s eyes. “Let me tell you something about fear. Fear is like…” he paused for a second, thinking of the right metaphor. “A wild horse, okay? Every time you try to go near it, you’ll probably get trampled. So, you avoid it. And that’s okay, you can manage pretty well without getting close to it.” He smiled and lowered his voice. “But let me tell you a little Gryffindor secret about being brave. If you can tame the wild horse, then you can ride it, and if you can ride it, then you have power that other people don’t.”

George blinked, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said.

Thomas smirked. “You didn’t understand any of that, did you?”

Bashfully, George shook his head.

Patting his shoulder, Thomas chuckled. “You’ll understand it when you need to.” He said. “I didn’t really get it at first either, when my dad told it to me. But you will.”

“But…” George let the sentence hang unfinished in the air.

“You _will.”_ Thomas asserted, opening the door at the bottom of the staircase, holding it open for George to walk through. “Look, Crabtree, do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then trust me when I say that if you have to face a boggart alone, you’ll be able to handle yourself. You’re a talented first year. I was there last week when William taught you the spell, I know you can do it.” He stopped outside of the Potions classroom and glanced at his watch. “Here you go,” he said. “Right on time.”

George glanced at the clock, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Thirty seconds late, actually.”

“Then you better get inside.” Opening the door with a smirk, Thomas pushed George inside. “Catch you later, Crabtree.” he said with a wink.

As the door closed, Professor Snape sneered down at George over his long nose. “You’re late, Crabtree,” he snapped.

“Sorry, sir,” George discreetly fidgeted his feet. “There was a boggart in the stairs.”

Snape’s expression was full of contempt. “Five points from Hufflepuff, see that you aren’t late again.”

George nodded, knowing better than to argue with Snape.

“The class is in partners for today’s lesson,” continued Snape. “I have assigned the pairs.” He pointed to a lone student in the corner, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Your partner is waiting for you.”

George looked over, his blood turning cold. _James Gillies._ He bit his lip. _Of course, it had to be him. There’s no one else my rotten luck would let me be paired with._

“Crabtree, your partner is waiting for you.” Snape all but shoved George into the corner with Gillies.

James glanced at George with an eye roll. “Stay out of my way, Crabapple,” he said. “Potions is my top subject, and I don’t want you messing it up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” mumbled George.

William scratched his quill on the parchment, pretending to take notes. He normally paid full attention in every class, but he found that today, he couldn’t focus. Besides, he’d already read three chapters ahead. He was doodling a picture of a parrot, like the ones his boggart had turned into. He was so enthralled in his art that he almost didn’t notice when the student next to him slid him a note.

_Nice bird,_ it read.

He glanced to his right to find Julia Ogden smirking at him. Her bushy blonde curls framed her face, half of it up in a ponytail.

He grabbed the note. _Thanks,_ he scribbled back, pushing it towards her.

_Working on any mysteries right now?_ She wrote.

_No. _

_What about the boggarts?_ She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

William hesitated before writing back. _What about them?_

She took a while to write down what she had to say. _Boggarts don’t just appear out of nowhere; someone must be setting them loose. Are you going to figure out who it is?_

They’d filled up one side of the scrap of parchment, so William turned it over to write on the other side. _Why should I?_

She stared at him incredulously for a second before scrawling her reply. _Isn’t solving mysteries kind of your thing?_

_Maybe I don’t need a thing,_ he wrote back.

_Come on, you like doing it. It might be fun._

He glared at her. _It just sounds like _you_ want to do it._ He replied.

As she read his reply, a bashful blush spread out on her face.

He grinned with a surprised blink. _You do?_ He mouthed at her.

She nodded silently, shrugging as she picked up her quill, drawing a single line on the parchment and sliding it back towards him.

She’d underlined the phrase; _it might be fun._

William paused for a second. She was right. It would be fun to solve another mystery. The one issue was the boggarts. If he investigated them, he’d be sure to see another one, and then he’d have to explain his fear to people, and he didn’t quite like thinking about it.

_But still,_ he glanced at Julia’s hopeful expression, _it could be fun._

Slowly, so that he didn’t make too much noise, he ripped off a large section of his roll of parchment. They were out of space again on their previous scrap. Julia read over his shoulder, beaming with excitement as he wrote: _The Mystery of the Boggarts: Case notes._

George swirled the pestle in the stone mortar, grinding the snake fang into a fine white powder, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He glanced at his Potions partner apprehensively, then gulped as his partner looked his way, immediately forcing his gaze to his lap. He poured the powder into the cauldron, then put another snake fang into the mortar and started crushing it.

“You have to add four measures of that to the cauldron,” said his partner, glancing down at his textbook.

George nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Got it.”

“That one makes five.”

George blinked, glancing at the snake fang. “Oh,” he said. “Right.” He smiled tightly. “Thanks, James.”

James Gillies nodded absently. “No worries.” He waved his wand over the cauldron. “Right,” he said. “Now we wait thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes, George thought glumly. Thirty minutes of awkwardly sitting here with James Gillies. He bit his lip, feeling guilty for thinking it. He barely knew James Gillies. He was working entirely off a bad first impression. Or well, a bad first, second, and third impression, rather.

He’d first met James Gillies on the Hogwarts Express. George had just stepped into a compartment, hiking up his new robes that were a tiny bit too long for him when he tripped over his untied shoelace.

He landed face-first on the carpeted floor with a small yelp. As he sat up and brushed himself off, he heard a lilting voice ask, “Are you all right?”

George nodded. “I’m okay,” he said, looking up at the boy standing next to him.

“Oh,” the boy said, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame.” He giggled. “I was sort of hoping you’d have gotten hurt. Might have been funny.”

George blinked. “Er, I’m George,” he said, holding out a hand. “George Crabtree.”

The boy smirked. “If you want people to be friends with you, George Crabapple, you might want to get better in the first impressions department. Being so hung with stupidity that you trip over it isn’t exactly what people want in their friends.” He sauntered off with a chuckle.

George saw him again at the Sorting Ceremony, watching from the Hufflepuff table as his name was announced to be James Gillies, and the Sorting Hat cried “Slytherin!” the moment it touched his brown curls. As he walked past towards the Slytherin table, he caught George’s eye with a smug, patronizing smile, mouthing “loser” to him.

And then there had been that little encounter in the Slytherin common room, and well…

He didn’t dislike James Gillies. George Crabtree wasn’t quite the type to dislike anybody. He disapproved of people, and he tended to avoid people who made him feel bad about himself, but he never really disliked anybody. He knew that people usually did things for specific reasons, and while he might not like their actions, he couldn’t really hold that against people. Love the sinner, hate the sin, that was his philosophy. In fact, any time he found himself thinking negative things about other people, he forced himself to stop thinking them.

You don’t get anywhere with thoughts like that, he told himself. Just turn them off. Besides, thinking that stuff is just as bad as saying it.

“So, Crabapple,” Gillies’ voice shocked George out of his thoughts. “What’s your story?”

“Er…what?”

“What’s your story? Tell me about yourself.”

George blinked, staring at him. “What do you mean?"

Gillies sighed, polishing his wand on the sleeve of his robe. "I'll make it simpler for you," he said. "Worst day, best day. You tell me the worst day of your life, and the best day of your life, got it?"

"How am I going to figure out what the best and worst days of my life are if I'm only eleven?"

"So far, obviously."

"But—" George let out a breath. He thought back, trying to pinpoint the worst day of his life. He'd had a lot of bad days: when his Aunt Rhododendron passed away, when his best friend Oliver moved to New York, the day he discovered just exactly what his aunts did for a living…

"I guess," George fiddled with his yellow and black scarf. "My worst day was Aunt Primrose's birthday when I was nine. I saved up all my allowance, got her the perfect present, this really pretty vase, but when I was coming back home to give it to her, a boy tried to steal it. When I pulled it away from him, I dropped it. The vase shattered. I ruined her birthday." He sighed.

"I see." Said James. "That is bad. Pathetic, really."

George glanced at him. "Uh, thanks."

"Now your best day."

"Right," George said. "I think the best day of my life was the day I met William Murdoch. I finally felt like someone understood me, someone wanted me to be there. He listened to my ideas and answered my questions. He talked to me like I was an actual person. So yeah, best day."

James nodded. "He sounds great." His tone didn’t reflect his words.

"Now you." Said George. "Worst day, best day."

"Well," James ruffled his hair. "The worst day of my life was my eleventh birthday, the day I got my Hogwarts letter."

George frowned. "Why?"

James stared at him. "If you'll let me finish, you'll find out."

"Sorry," George's gaze met the floor.

He went on. "I got the letter in the morning; an owl came in down the chimney and dropped it in my lap. I was really excited, and I went to show my mum and dad, but they weren't at home. I waited all day to show them." He paused, pensive. "When they finally got home that night, they didn't even say anything. I thought they'd be happy, proud of me or something." Hearing his voice was like licking a lemon. "But they didn't even care." His gaze was like wind, both everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"James," said George softly, tracing his fingers along the wood grain of the table. "I'm really sorry that happened."

He blinked, then smiled. "Well, it's all okay, because my best day was the day I went to Hogwarts. The minute I stepped on that train, I knew that I could do anything I wanted. I could be someone new. I didn't have to impress my parents, and nobody had any expectations for me to live up to." He grinned. "I could invent a whole new James Gillies."

“That’s…” George felt a shy smile light up his face. “That’s really cool, actually.”

James grinned. “Thanks.”

“Gillies! Crabtree!” Snape’s harsh tones made the boys jump. “Less talking, or do you want that cauldron to explode?”

The boys ducked their heads down low, avoiding Snape’s eyes. George glanced at James, who looked like he was trying hard not to laugh.

They giggled silently.

“So,” asked Julia once class was over. “How do we start tracking down the perpetrator?”

William glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “Perpetrator?” he repeated.

She giggled. “Don’t you use some kind of detective lingo?”

“No,” said William. “I don’t.”

She smirked like she didn’t believe him.

They walked together down the corridor, side by side.

“Well, to answer your question,” he went on. “We’d probably have to start by figuring out where all the boggarts have been seen. That way we’ll be able to see if there’s any common denominators between the sightings. Maybe if they’re all around the same area?”

“We can ask one of the professors,” suggested Julia. “They might know where boggarts have been spotted.”

“Which professor, though?” asked William. “Not all of them will be as willing to give information like that.”

“Don’t ask Snape,” she said, her lips curling.

“Doesn’t he listen to Slytherins?”

She laughed. “Are you a Slytherin?” she asked.

William frowned, pausing for a second. “...You’re a Slytherin.”

She blinked, a smile growing on her face. “You want me to do it?”

"Yeah, why not?"

She grinned slyly. “I just figured a smart detective like you would want to do his own dirty work.” She elbowed him playfully in the arm. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll ask Snape.”

William nodded, his arm smarting a little from her jab. “I’ll see if Professor Flitwick will tell me anything.”

“So, we’re splitting up?” asked Julia, raising an eyebrow.

“For now,” he replied. “We can talk at dinner, see what we can find. I’ll ask my friends to ask their heads of house too.”

“Brackenreid,” supplied Julia. “And the short boy from Hufflepuff.”

He nodded.

Julia paused, pursing her lips. “You’re a very odd trio,” she commented.

He glanced at her, immediately getting defensive. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked. He knew she was right, they were an odd group, but they were the only friends he had.

She shook her head. “Not at all,” she said. “I just, it’s hard to understand how people like you three would ever become friends.”

“Well, George likes everyone,” he said, shrugging. “And Thomas just likes any situation where he gets to have fun.”

“You’re selling yourself short, aren’t you?” Julia brushed a stray curl out of her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

She let out an amused laugh. “You’re the whole reason they even met each other!” she said. “You don’t think they’d still be hanging around you if they didn’t in some way like being around you?”

He looked at the ground. “Nobody likes being around me,” he mumbled.

It was Julia’s turn to stare at her shoes. “I like being around you,” she said.

William could feel his heart pounding. She was pretty, and he liked her. He'd had a crush on her ever since he first saw her. Was she admitting she liked him back? Or was he reading too deep into it? "You like me?" He asked.

"Yeah," She blinked into his eyes, flustered. "No, well…" her face went red. "Not like _like_ you, just that I… I like _you._"

He stared at her silently.

She bit her lip.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you… I suppose." He said, awkwardly.

She breathed an embarrassed laugh. "You're welcome."

Thomas Brackenreid slid into a bench across from William Murdoch, stabbing his fork into his plate of shepherd’s pie.

William glanced up. “Have you seen George?” he asked.

Thomas swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s right over there, talking to a friend.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

William squinted across the room, spotting George’s signature Hufflepuff scarf, and George’s dog-like face poking out from above it. Standing in front of him, stood a familiar somebody in Slytherin green. “Is that…” he squinted. “...James Gillies?”

“I think so,” smirked Thomas. “They make an odd pair, don’t they?”

William frowned. “A very odd pair.”

George soundlessly giggled off in the distance.

William mashed his shepherd’s pie flat. George and James Gillies? He wondered. He couldn’t comprehend how they would go together. George Crabtree, the sweet, funny, guileless Hufflepuff and James Gillies, the…the…

William sighed, realizing that he knew nothing about Gillies. All he was working off was one bad first impression, and he knew that first impressions were often wrong. Maybe James Gillies really isn’t as bad as I think he is, he thought. If George likes him, he can’t be too bad.

A moment later, George slid down next to William, smiling. “Hi,” he said, breathlessly. “Sorry I’m late, I was just talking to a friend.”

“James Gillies,” said William. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” said George.

“How’d that happen?” asked Thomas, smirking through a glass of water.

“We got put as potions partners,” began George. “And, I don’t know, we just started talking, I guess.”

“Glad you have a friend your age, Bugalugs,” Thomas grinned. “Wouldn’t want you to be alone when we graduate.”

“That’s years from now!” cried George.

“McGonagall’s always saying I should look ahead,” shrugged Thomas. “I’m just taking her advice.”

William stared at his shepherd’s pie, still unable to shake the feeling that James Gillies and George together would spell trouble.

“So, Murdoch,” Thomas said, clapping him on the back. “When’s the next mystery coming? I keep telling Margaret that I’m friends with a detective, she doesn’t believe me.”

“Well,” said William slowly. “I actually am working on a case.”

“What, without us?” George cried, standing up from the table. “We’re your crew!”

“When were you planning on filling us in?” Thomas folded his arms.

“I just started investigating before lunch,” William held up his hands. “I was going to tell you.”

Thomas still looked annoyed. George wore a look of relief.

“What is it?” George sat back down in his seat.

William took a breath. “It’s the boggarts.” he said. “And I think we’re going to have some extra help with this one.”

Thomas and George frowned, exchanging a confused glance. “Who?”

“Speak of the devil,” said a voice as Julia Ogden slid into the seat beside George.

Thomas sighed with a faint eye roll. “Not bloody you,” he mumbled.

Julia took a breath through her nose. “Good to see you too, Brackenreid. Glad to see you’re still kicking, I thought that you’d have died of shame after your display in Thursday’s match.”

“Oh, I am still kicking,” breathed Thomas. “Still kicking Slytherin’s arse, or did you forget who won?”

George couldn’t conceal his excited smile. “This’ll be fun,” he whispered, watching the banter between the two Quidditch keepers.

Julia sat up straighter. “Well, I definitely didn’t forget you almost falling off your broom.” She glanced at her fingernails. “Your new broom doesn’t do all the work for you like your old one did, huh?”

Thomas’ eyebrows shot up. “Well, you ought to get a new helmet. Your head’s getting so big it doesn’t quite fit anymore.”

"Well, just hope _your_ head doesn't grow too much, or you won't be able to fit it up your backside, I know how much thinking you do in there."

George covered his mouth with both hands, trying not to laugh.

“Anyway,” she turned to William. “I asked Snape where the boggarts had been spotted, and he gave me a list.” She slapped a scrap of parchment onto the table. “They seem to be all around the castle, but mostly around the dungeons.”

“That is somewhat to be expected,” said William, examining the list. "The dungeons have the ideal conditions for boggarts, plenty of small, dark places."

"That would imply," Thomas began slowly, choosing his words carefully, glancing at George and Julia. "That they were coming from somewhere in the dungeons."

“Which means…” George wet his lips apprehensively. “If it’s a student, they’re probably a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin.”

They fell silent, turning their gaze onto each other in turn, no one wanting to talk first.

Julia rolled her eyes, sighing with a huff. “Oh, why don’t we just say it? It was a Slytherin! Statistically speaking, anything going wrong in the dungeons is because of Slytherin.”

George bit his lip. “I can ask around, see if any of the other Hufflepuffs know anything.”

William smiled at him. “Thank you, George,” he said.

“What are the rest of us going to do?” asked Thomas, still eyeing Julia with slight contempt.

“Well,” William leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. “The only reason there would be so many boggarts appearing in such a short period of time is if someone is collecting and releasing them.”

“Why would anyone do that?” wondered George, his shoulders and arms hunched together tightly, like he was trying to make himself smaller.

“I can think of several Slytherins who’d think it’s funny,” mumbled Thomas.

Julia shot him a glare but sighed in resignation. “He’s right,” she said. “As much as I hate to admit it, I can definitely see certain Slytherins releasing boggarts as a joke.”

William nodded. “Slytherin is definitely our most likely source, but we shouldn’t rule out the other houses just because of geography. It’s plausible someone from another house is releasing them purposefully around the dungeons to frame Slytherin.”

“What are we going to do?” asked George, swallowing a mouthful of potato.

“Simple,” Thomas said. “You’ve got to follow the grades.”

“What?” William stared at him.

“Follow the grades?” repeated Julia. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Thomas explained, making it sound like explaining it was a chore, but looking like nothing made him happier. “You’ve heard of following the money, right?” He waited for them to finish nodding. “Well, it’s a similar principle, really. It’s just at school, the most likely motivation isn’t money, it’s grades. Everyone wants O’s on their OWLs, they’ll do anything to get them, really.”

“That’s not bad,” admitted William.

“But surely not _everyone’s_ motivation is grades,” said Julia, rolling her eyes as she thought of all the people she’d done group projects with.

“Well, _statistically_ speaking,” Thomas raised his eyebrows at her smugly.

She rolled her eyes again. “You still haven’t shared your _brilliant_ plan.”

“Well, think about motivation. Why would someone be releasing boggarts?”

They each answered at the same time.

“A joke,” said Julia.

“Sabotage,” said William.

“Practice,” said George.

Thomas pointed at George. “What did you say?”

“Practice,” George repeated, looking nervous. “You said follow the grades, and I thought if someone wasn’t doing too well in Defense Against the Dark Arts, they might try to practice. So, they might collect boggarts and practice _Riddikulus.”_

_“There’s_ someone taking my words to heart!” cried Thomas, slapping the table loudly. “Practice, that’s good.”

William brought out his case notes on the piece of parchment, scribbling this down. “So,” he said. “Here’s the plan: we’ll all observe and talk to people in our respective houses. Gather information, see if we can figure out some suspects.”

“There’s one thing you’re forgetting,” said Julia.

“What?”

“We might not even need to ask around our houses. If someone is releasing these boggarts on purpose, we might be able to catch them in the act.” She talked with her hands, waving them around like she was conducting a concert. “We know where they usually strike. We should set up a surveillance around the dungeons.”

“Good plan,” nodded Thomas.

William stared at the tabletop.

“You’re _agreeing_ with me?” Julia raised an eyebrow. “Why, Brackenreid, you’re getting soft.”

“Just this once, don’t get used to it,” muttered Thomas into his glass of water.

“Um,” George raised his hand slightly. “Who’s going to be the surveillance first?”

“It was my idea,” said Julia. “I’ll go first.”

“Right,” said William, taking a breath. “Let’s get to work.”


	5. Boggarts: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew faces their worst fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for leaving you for seven months with half of an unfinished chapter. I have no excuse for you, I'm just very sorry.
> 
> Picking everyone's boggarts was very hard (except for Murdoch because we know what his worst fear is), and I really hope my choices work and seem in character.

An icy air hung throughout the dungeons, the pale light from the tip of George’s wand sliding along the stone walls as he slowly made his way through the corridors. His mouth tasted stale and dry, and no amount of swallowing seemed to help. He held his wand tightly in his right hand, his left anxiously playing with the fringe on his scarf. His feet moved slowly, shuffling along like the walking dead. His gaze flickered, darting back and forth like a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower.

He wasn’t afraid. He knew he wasn’t, because he kept telling himself that he wasn’t. “I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid,” he mumbled to himself. It was a constant mantra, rhythmic and pulsing along with his heartbeat. If he stopped repeating it, he would stop believing it.

The light from his wand fell on a brick wall ahead. George rolled his eyes. Either the Hogwarts dungeon was full of unnecessary dead ends, or he kept walking into the same ones over and over.

He dug into the pockets of his robes, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment. Thomas had scrawled a crude map on it, handing it to Crabtree at breakfast that morning with a wink.  _ Just in case, _ he had said.

Holding up his wand, George squinted at the map. “For a prefect,” he muttered. “He’s got absolutely horrible handwriting.” The map looked more like a maze of squiggles than a floorplan of any kind, with hallways George was pretty sure didn’t exist and stairways seemed to lead nowhere.

_ “Uuuugh,”  _ he groaned, backing up against the wall. “This is useless.” He slid his body down the wall. He was well and truly lost. “Brilliant,” he muttered. “Lost in the dungeons. It could take days for someone to find me.”

George closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He’d made a nice mess of his first boggart patrol by himself. When Julia had suggested keeping watch for boggarts in the dungeons, the group had been hesitant to let George take a shift. It was only after three days of finding nothing that they decided to let George accompany them, and it was another three days after that when they finally let him try it alone.

Getting lost hadn’t crossed his mind. He had been worrying about boggarts. On every single patrol with the others, he’d been keeping a watch out for terrifying things, not keeping an eye on his surroundings.

“Great job, George,” he grumbled. “You’ve somehow screwed up when all you had to do was walk around and not get lost.”

Something soft brushed past his leg, perhaps a rat, a niffler or something else entirely. He yelped, pulling himself into a tight ball.

A sudden noise shocked George out of his musings.  _ What was that? _ He sat entirely still, holding his breath.  _ Maybe I imagined it. _

The scuffling of shoes against stone echoed through the dungeon. At the end of the hall, a white light danced on the walls, getting steadily brighter.

_ Person! _ Scrambling for his wand, George shoved it into his robes to hide the light, not wanting to say  _ ‘nox’ _ and attract attention. He watched the end of the corridor with wide eyes.

A silhouette appeared, the light catching the coiled edges of a head of curly hair. The figure stopped walking, turning to gaze down the hall, looking straight at George.

George was a statue, not daring to move or breathe.  _ Maybe if I don’t move, they’ll go away, _ he thought as the sound of footsteps grew louder and louder until they suddenly stopped.

For several agonizing moments, there was complete silence.

_ I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, _ George thought. His mind was a skipping record. He took a deep breath.  _ I’m NOT afraid. I’ll channel my inner Gryffindor. There’s one in there somewhere.  _ He pulled out his glowing wand, holding it out to see who had found him, ready to yell  _ ‘Flipendo!’ _ if the need arose.

The pale, round face of James Gillies recoiled, blinking in the sudden light.

George’s face flushed with heat. “Don’t  _ do _ that!” he cried, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath.

“Do what?” asked Gillies, his hands nonchalantly in his pockets.

“Sneaking around in the dark.”

Gillies raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“Well, I mean—”

“What  _ are _ you doing, anyway?” asked Gillies.

George shuffled his feet. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to say,” he admitted.

Gillies rolled his eyes. “Something from your secret Murdoch mystery society?”

“I wouldn’t have called it that, but yeah.”

“Did they tell you not to tell anyone else?”

“Well, no, but—” 

“And did you say you weren’t going to tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Good,” said James with a smile. “Then you can tell me.”

A moment of consideration passed. George breathed a laugh. “Okay,” he agreed. He straightened his spine, the extra few inches of height making him feel important. “I’m looking for boggarts,” he said.

James glanced around, a frown on his face. “You’re just waiting for them?”

George blushed. “Well.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’m trying to walk around, patrol, you know, but I keep getting lost.”

Gillies snorted a laugh. “You’re in Hufflepuff and you don’t know your way around the dungeons?”

“It’s not like I spend too much time down here,” protested George, his hands on his hips.

“Oh, George,” smirked Gillies, pointing his wand at George, an extension of his arm. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark?”

“I’m not afraid!”

Gillies glanced at him pointedly, but said nothing.

The boys stood in silence for a few moments.

“So,” said James, brandishing his wand. “Are you going to just sit here for the rest of your life?”

Glancing at him, George’s eyebrows knit together.

“Or,” with a grin, James placed his wand flat in his palm. “Point me!” he commanded. His wand spun, locking in a position pointing diagonally, slightly to the left. He smiled, taking a few steps in the direction it pointed in. He glanced back at George. “Are you coming?” he asked.

Blinking, George cocked his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy. “Coming?” he repeated.

“My wand is pointing north,” explained James, pointing in that direction. “If we follow it, we’ll end up near the Potions room, and we can figure out the way from there.”

George smiled. James Gillies always had a plan, just like William. George liked being around them, it was like every worry or reservation he had about an idea disappeared because they just knew what to do. “Okay,” he said. “I’m coming.”

  
  


William Murdoch took a bite of his chicken sandwich, studying his case notes carefully. His notes were thorough, recording the exact time and location of each and every boggart sighting, information about each victim and the form each boggart took. There had been more and more sightings lately, all around the castle, with a huge majority around the dungeons.  _ At least we know we’re on the right track, _ he sighed.

It frustrated him that, even though he and his friends must have been spending more time in the dungeons than anyone else, their efforts had yet to yield a single boggart sighting.  _ George hasn’t even seen his own boggart before, _ he thought miserably.

He shouldn’t be worried about George. George was resourceful, brave and surprisingly quick on his feet. And yet, despite himself, William worried.

What  _ would _ George’s boggart be? He knew George was claustrophobic, the way he shrunk back on the crowded staircase the other day confirmed it, but was that his worst fear?

William sighed. He couldn’t judge, considering his own boggart. It was embarrassing, to be afraid of butterflies, of all things. Well, not exactly butterflies… 

He had been seven years old when he found his mother’s body sprawled out, face down in the creek, surrounded by hundreds of fluttering butterflies. His eyes kept wanting to look away, but they were locked in place. The butterflies floated and flitted all around him, landing on his mother’s stiff, pale face and on his shaking hands.

William clenched his fist, molding his sandwich into a spiky star from where his fingers dug into the soft bread.

“Oi, Murdoch!” Thomas Brackenreid slid into the seat across from him, carrying a tray of food. “Any news?”

Dropping his sandwich on his plate, William ran a hand down his face, jumping with surprise.  _ “Gaah—  _ News?” he sputtered. He closed his eyes tight, shaking his head to clear his mind of old, unwanted memories.

His eyebrows furrowing, Thomas’ mouth curled into an amused smile. “Yeah,  _ news,” _ he said. “You know, like new information that I might not know.

William blinked. "No, I—" he sighed. "I know what news is."

Brackenreid laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a million miles away, aren’t you?” he asked.

“You could say that.”

Sobering, Brackenreid’s eyes looked warm and deep. “Worried about Crabtree?” he asked.

Murdoch blinked.  _ Right. _ That  _ had _ been why he was thinking about his mother. “Yeah,” he breathed.

Thomas quirked a smile. “Me too, if I’m being honest.” He paused. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Murdoch brushed a finger against his plate, feeling the bread crumbs under his finger tips. “What do you think his boggart will be?” he asked.

Brackenreid shifted in his seat. “I don’t think that’s any of our business,” he said.

“It’s not, but…”

“I know,” Thomas said. He shook his head with a smile. “You worry about him too much, you know?”

William frowned. “I do not.”

“Oh, stop it, you worry about everything he does.”

“Name one thing about George I worry about other than the boggarts.”

“James Gillies.”

William’s tongue tripped, and instead of saying some retort, he just sat there in silence.

“Lay off him, a little, won’t you?” Thomas asked, opening the top of his sandwich and pulling off the pickles, laying them in a pile on his plate. “I think it’s grand that Crabtree’s got friends his age.”

“But James Gillies—” William broke off.

Brackenreid took a sip of pumpkin juice, raising his eyebrows. “Mmhmm?”

“He’s… a bully. You remember the things he used to say to George.”

“Key word, there,  _ used to,”  _ Brackenreid pointed out. “I don’t see him saying stuff like that these days.”

“No one changes that much!”

“He’s a kid!” Thomas waved a dismissive hand in the air, shooing away Murdoch’s protests like irritating flies. “Gillies isn’t a mature person yet, and he’s gonna do a lot of stupid things. You have to expect that. The lad doesn’t know how to make friends, and that’s something he’s gonna have to learn, but he hasn’t yet. Cut him some slack.”

“This isn’t about Gillies,” William sliced through the air with his hands. “This is about George. I don’t want him to get hurt. I’m the only person who understands him.”

Brackenreid breathed a chuckle, shaking his head as he took a bite from his sandwich.

“What?” asked William.

Thomas swallowed. “Look, I don’t want to upset you, it’s nothing.”

_ “What?” _ William repeated, with more force.

Letting out a short, sharp puff of air from his nose, Thomas smiled. “It’s just, are you sure you aren’t a tiny bit, you know…?” He motioned his hand in the air.

“A tiny bit what?”

“You know,” Thomas smirked. “Jealous.”

_ “Jealous?” _ repeated William, laughing at how ridiculous that idea was. “Jealous of James Gillies? You’ve got to be joking.”

“No,” said Brackenreid. “Jealous that Crabtree has someone else to hang out with.”

Murdoch fell back in his chair, deflating a little. His mouth opened and closed like a gasping goldfish, trying to say something in his defense.

“Look, Murdoch,” Thomas went on. “Just because Crabtree’s got another friend doesn’t mean that Gillies is automatically some crazy, manipulative maniac.”

“I  _ know _ that,” grumbled Murdoch.

“And, hey,” Thomas smiled. “Just because Crabtree’s got another friend doesn’t mean he likes you less. He’ll always like you and respect you. Heck, he thinks you’re the coolest thing since Quidditch. James Gillies isn’t going to change that.” 

William sighed, his lips pursed. “So…”

“So show him that you respect him too.” Thomas drained the last few drops of juice from his glass. “Give him space to make his own friends and his own decisions.” He smiled, reaching across the table to pat Murdoch on the shoulder. "That's all any good friend can do anyways."

"I suppose." William grinned tightly, letting out a breath. "I just hope he's okay."

“So,” James said, the two boys shuffling along the dark corridors. “You’re sure you don’t want to reconsider how you spend your free time? This is  _ incredibly _ dull.”

George cracked a smirk, but remained silent.

Rolling his eyes, James sighed loudly. “So, you’re just walking around, waiting to  _ maybe _ see a boggart?”

“Pretty much." George fiddled with his glowing wand, making the shadows on the wall perform a fluttery dance.

James sucked in his cheeks, staring pointedly at an imaginary audience like he was on a tv show. “Considering you don’t even know if there are any boggarts down here to begin with, this seems just a little pointless to me.”

George’s twitchy fingers flicked his wand, sending it clattering on the stone floors, the sound ringing for several moments afterwards. “Well,” he said, awkwardly stooping to snatch up his wand. “If we do see a boggart, we might get a clue as to where they’re coming from.”

James pursed his lips, mildly annoyed. “Why don’t you just keep an eye on where the boggart sightings happen? I mean, regardless of whether or not you find them yourselves, the boggarts will get found, and you’ll get some idea of where they're coming from.”

“We thought—” started George, before he instantly cut himself off. His cheeks flushed pink.

“What?” asked James.

“Nothing.”

“You thought what?” Gillies folded his arms across his chest. The deep green of his tie seemed to swallow every ounce of light, the silver stripes seeming to pop right out of the fabric.

George swallowed. He didn’t want to tell James that they had thought someone in Slytherin was releasing boggarts on purpose. He wanted James to like him, and he figured that giving the impression that he saw Slytherins as untrustworthy might put a damper on their relationship.

_ Though, _ he realized.  _ If I don’t tell him, he’ll still think I don’t trust him. _ He sighed.  _ Lose-lose, George Crabtree. _

“We thought someone might be releasing boggarts on purpose,” said George.

James nodded. “And you thought it might be a Slytherin,” he finished.

“Maybe!” cried George quickly, waving his hands frantically like a lost orchestra conductor. “And that’s only because most of the boggarts have been seen in the dungeons, not because…” he trailed off, looking helpless at Gillies.  _ Please don’t think I have anything against Slytherin,  _ he prayed.  _ I don’t, I promise! _

James raised an eyebrow, a faint, unreadable expression on his face. “Not because you think Slytherins are untrustworthy?” The question was asked flatly, without a hint of bitterness, judgement, or really any emotion at all.

George smiled, his nervous fingers instinctively curling around his wooly scarf. “Of course not,” he said. “You’re a Slytherin yourself, and you’re probably the most honest person I know.”  _ To the point of brutal bluntness, _ thought George silently.

Gillies blinked. The flicker of a flattered, pleased smile passed over his features. He wet his lips. “Still,” he said after a moment of brief silence. “Waiting around for boggarts that might not even be around seems stupid.”

Reaching a fork in the hall, the boys glanced at Gillies’ wand, choosing the much darker, left path.

“Well,” said George, holding his lit wand aloft to light the way. “The others thought it was a good idea.”

“You mean  _ William Murdoch _ thought it was a good idea.” James glanced sideways at Crabtree, smirking. “Why do you always do everything he tells you to?”

“I don’t do  _ everything  _ he—”

“Yes, you do,” interrupted Gillies. “You obey his every word like it’s your religious duty. Why?”

George shrugged, ripping a tiny ball of fuzz from his scarf. “He’s always right,” he explained. “I usually don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but he’s never been wrong before, so I just listen to him.”

The boys went silent, the only sound being their echoey footsteps and the occasional groan or creak from students, ghosts or perhaps the castle itself.

Breaking the silence, James sniffed thoughtfully. “Do you ever think that maybe he does that on purpose?” he asked.

“What?” 

“I mean,” James went on. “Maybe he’s being confusing on purpose? You know, to make  _ you _ confused.”

“Why would he do that?”

“It makes him look smarter,” said Gillies. “I’ve noticed several of the Ravenclaws doing the same thing. They surround themselves with people they think aren’t as smart as themselves to look like geniuses.”

“He doesn’t do that,” frowned George, clutching tightly to his sense of Hufflepuff loyalty. “Besides, the others are just as smart too, so—”

Gillies held back a snicker. “Julia and Brackenreid?” he flashed George an almost condescending grin. “You give them too much credit. Julia’s hair is almost as big as her head, which is sad because she might be smarter if she stopped trying to make herself  _ sound _ smart.” He laughed at his own quip. “And Brackenreid puts his foot in his mouth so much that there’s never any room for any intelligent conversation.”

George stopped walking, his eyebrows knit together. “James,” he said, his voice hollow. “Those are my friends you’re talking about.”

Gillies laughed. “Come on, George,” he said. “It’s a joke!”

“It's not funny," said George firmly. "I don't make fun of your friends, so how come—"

"You would if I had other friends," Gillies mumbled under his breath.

George stopped, staring at him. "No, I wouldn't." He took a step towards James, his feet brushing against the floor. "And you do have other friends. You've got Robert."

The look on Gillies' face told George that he didn't think Robert Perry should even be considered to count as one of his friends, but he said nothing. After a moment, he let out a short breath. “I’m sorry, George,” he said. “It was a bad joke, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

George smiled. “It’s okay.” He sucked in his cheeks, grinning. “Between you and me,” he whispered. “You weren’t wrong.”

The two boys giggled.

The sound of footsteps echoed along the corridor, and the boys instinctively drew together, George’s back to Gillies’ chest, their shadow on the wall behind them looking like a grotesque two-headed monster.

A shadowy figure appeared at the end of the hallway.

Gillies softly but pointedly kicked George in the leg.

George took both the hint and a breath. “Who’s there?” he called. His voice quivered despite his best effort.

“George Crabtree?” A small, unassuming voice bounced off the walls.

Gillies sprang up in surprise.  _ “Robert?” _ he asked.

The shadowy figure rushed forward, and the skinny, pale face of Robert Perry came into the light.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Gillies.

Robert Perry shrunk down. “Looking for you,” he said. “You weren’t at lunch.”

“You’re right,” Gillies snapped. “I wasn’t. I don’t have to be at every single lunch, just like you don’t have to be here—”

“Hey, no!” George interjected, moving between them, the light from his wand brightening their faces.

Gillies turned to stare at him. Perry quickly followed suit.

“I haven’t really gotten to spend time with Robert yet,” explained Geore mildly. “I want to get to know him a little better.”

Robert Perry blinked. “Really?” he breathed.

“Of course,” smiled George.

Gillies rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Robert can stay.”

  
  


Julia cursed under her breath as she flew back up the staircase. She’d forgotten to write down the password, which would cause a problem when she tried to come back to the common room later. The common room was nearly empty; almost everyone was at lunch, it seemed.

Walking towards the notice board, her quill prepped to scrawl it on any spare scrap of parchment or even her own arm, a loud bang caught her attention.

She paused, listening to the ensuing silence.  _ Probably nothing, _ she told herself. She took another step.

_THUMP!_ _BANG! BOOM!_

Julia blinked. “Probably something,” she mumbled, hurrying up the stairs, following the series of crashes and thuds echoing through the common room. She stopped outside the boys dorms, hesitant to go in. Girls were allowed in the boys dorm, she knew that, but she somehow still felt uncomfortable doing it. Glancing inside, she didn’t see anyone, so she tentatively tiptoed in.

_ BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG! _ Something was making a frantic noise and whatever it was was doing it very loudly.

_ It’s coming from under that bed, _ Julia noted, moving quickly towards the bed on the far wall, pressed against the corner. Dropping to her hands and knees, she pressed her face against the cold stone floor to peek under the bed.

Her eyes widened, her hand reaching into the darkness. Julia pulled a cold box from underneath the bed. She held it up and studied it in the light.

It was made of black metal and was about the size of a loaf of grocery store bread. A large metal lock hung around the latch. The lid bounced and jolted up and down as something knocked violently against it from inside.

Her fingers brushed against a label stuck to the bottom of the box. As Julia carefully turned the box over, her heart was beating about a hundred beats per second, on time with the thrashing knocks that whatever it was inside the box was making. The label wasn’t anything fancy, just a small slip of parchment stuck on the box. The tight, neat handwriting on the parchment read:  _ Private Property of James Gillies. _

  
  


The dungeons were a good deal less spooky once Robert Perry managed to light up the end of his wand and the halls were illuminated by both his and George’s wands.

“So, Robert,” George said, one hand in his pocket. “How’d you meet James?”

Robert stole a look at Gillies in front of them, like he was awaiting instructions. “Um,” he breathed. “Defense Against the Dark Arts. We sat together the first day.”

George nodded. “So, uh,” he bit his lip. “What do you like to do?”

Blinking, Robert’s fingers twiddled anxiously. “Um.” He glanced at Gillies, hunching his shoulders. “Promise not to laugh?” he whispered.

George drew an ‘x’ over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

Robert cupped a hand around his mouth. “I like… marbles.”

“Marbles?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I collect them. I like to build tracks for them and watch them race and stuff.”

Gillies made a noise that almost sounded like a snort.

Robert drew into himself.

George smiled. “That’s cool!” he said. “I’d like to see it sometime.”

Robert looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” said George. “It sounds exciting.”

“Sure,” Gillies said snarkily. “If your idea of exciting is watching balls roll down a tube.”

George and Robert fell silent.

The boys stopped as they reached t-junction where the hallway they were following ended and two paths on either side emerged.

Gillies glanced down at his wand, which still pointed straight forward. “Well,” he said. “Can’t follow this anymore.”

“Not unless this wall is like Platform 9 ¾,” agreed George. “Which way are we going?”

“Both,” said Gillies.

The boys frowned at him.

“We’ll split up,” he explained, pocketing his wand. “You two go that way, I’ll go this way. We’ll both walk fifty steps down the hallway and meet back here.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we just all went together?” asked George. “I mean, there could be anything out here.”

“It’s faster if we do it my way,” Gillies said. He turned around on his heels and started walking left. “See you in 100 steps.” With that, he disappeared down the corridor.

George and Robert exchanged a look, shrugged and walked off towards the right, counting their steps under their breath.

“One, two, three, four…”

  
  


William and Thomas jumped as Julia Ogden pounced onto their lunch table, shoving a struggling box into their faces.  _ “I know who it is!” _

“Bloody Hell!” exclaimed Thomas, a hand over his heart as he regained composure. “Don’t do that!”

William choked on his pumpkin juice. He slammed his glass on the table, coughing until his face went red and his eyes watered.

Julia’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” she breathed, brushing her curls out of her face with her fingers.  _ “I know who it is.” _

Brackenreid frowned, poking the shaking box with the end of his fork. “What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a boggart.”

The boys both stared up at her in silence.

“And—” she lifted the box with two hands, rotating it so that they could see the label on the bottom.

Clearing his throat, William read the label aloud. “‘Private Property of James Gillies,’” he looked at Julia. “Where did you get this?”

Julia’s blue eyes were wide with excitement and fear. “I found it in the boy’s dorms. There’s a dozen of them under his bed.”

“There!” cried William, sitting back in his seat with his arms folded. He wore a triumphant look on his face. “I told you James Gillies couldn’t be trusted.”

Brackenreid sighed, reaching out and taking the box in his hands. “Are we sure it—” 

The box struggled and thrashed, making loud banging and crashing noises. 

Thomas glared at it, pulling out his wand.  _ “Silencio!” _ he cried.

The noises stopped.

Thomas continued. “Are we sure it’s him?”

“It’s his box,” said William.

“It was under his bed,” said Julia.

“Right,” said Thomas, waving his hand. He placed the box back on the table. “But someone could have set him up. Maybe they’re just using his boxes.”

Scowling, William stabbed a finger into the table. “Brackenreid, it’s him!” he hissed. “You’ve seen how he acts, it’s got to be him. There isn’t anyone else in this whole school who would do this kind of prank.”

“He’s a first year, Murdoch.” Thomas scratched the back of his head. “Look, I’m a prefect. I know what sort of pranks kids pull, and I know that first years don’t do stuff this elaborate. First years aren’t worried about pranking their friends, they’re worried about fitting in and finding their place. We haven’t even been two months at school.” He waved his hands as he spoke. “If the most confident kids haven’t figured out where they belong yet, James Gillies definitely hasn’t.”

Julia held up her hand, thinking hard. “You’re right, Brackenreid,” she said.

William glared at her. “Oh, come on!”

“Shut up, Murdoch!” Julia spat. Her face instantly turned beet red. “Sorry!” She sucked in a breath. “Just let me finish.” Her excited fingers tugged at her curls. “What if it’s not a prank?” she asked. “Remember what George said before?  _ Practice. _ Maybe he’s right?”

“You think Gillies is collecting boggarts so he can practice  _ Riddikulus?” _ Brackenreid looked unconvinced. “George says he’s the smartest in his year, I doubt he’d need to practice.”

Murdoch’s eyes met the table. “Even smart kids get scared.”

“Right,” said Brackenreid. “But it still doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t need that many boggarts if he was just practicing  _ Riddikulus. _ Him having this many in the first place implies that he succeeds in banishing them. If he was failing every time, wouldn’t he just use the same one boggart?” 

Julia and William nodded slowly. Julia’s excitement visibly deflated.

Thomas shook his head. “If it’s him, there’s some other reason he’s doing this.” He straightened his back. “We’ll keep an eye out, but we can’t bust him yet.”

The three of them were silent for a while, poking at their lunch.

“Who’ll tell George?” asked Julia softly.

Brackenreid bit his lip. “Don’t tell him,” he said.

Murdoch’s head jerked to stare at him in disbelief. “What?” he demanded. “Why not?”

“The kid’ll be devastated,” said Brackenreid. “Gillies is Crabtree’s only friend his age right now, and we can’t let anything break them up unless we’re absolutely sure that Gillies is the one to blame for this.”

William frowned, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s  _ lying.” _

“It is not,” Thomas retorted. “We’re just not telling him something. By definition, we can’t be telling him a lie.”

“That’s lying by omission,” William pointed out.

Julia glared at him. “Oh, come off it, Murdoch.” She sounded exasperated. “Do you want to break George’s heart?”

Both of the boys internally cringed, picturing the little Hufflepuff sobbing for days.

“No,” sighed William.

“Then—” Julia mimed zipping her mouth shut. “We don’t tell him.”

"Sixty-three… sixty-four… sixty-five…" George counted under his breath as he led the way down the hall.

"You know," said Robert Perry, his hands tucked in his pockets. “There’s all different kinds of marbles. Aggies, Cats Eyes, Alleys, Red devils, Bumblebees, Clearies…”

George stopped walking. “What’s the difference?”

“Colour, mostly,” Robert said. “Here, hang on,” he fished around in his pocket for a moment, eventually producing two glass marbles. He held out his hand to show them to George. “See that one?” He pointed to a small yellow marble with thin brown and black swirls. “That’s a Bumblebee. That one’s an Aggie,” he held out a bright blue one with white stripes.

As George stepped closer, the blue one, the  _ Aggie _ , as Robert called it, sparkled in the light. The Bumblebee rolled in the groove between his two middle fingers.

“Cool,” said George.

Robert grinned. “And this—” he reached into the pocket of his robes. “This is the most precious marble I own.” He held out a black glass marble, dropping it in George’s hand.

“Whoa.” George breathed.

George held a tiny piece of the night. It was the blackest black imaginable, blacker than coal dust and blacker than the eyes of a dog. It had five light blue stripes running across it, broken with a strip dark, sparkling gold, like a river of glittering stars, bordered with bright, blinding streaks of white.

“It’s called a Banded Lutz,” said Robert. “Cool, huh?”

“Definitely cool,” agreed George, turning it around. It had tiny dents, scratches and scuff marks from age.

“It used to be my grandfather’s,” Robert said. “It’s the first marble I ever had. It’s very rare.”

“Really?” The marble in George’s hand grew much heavier. He passed it back to Robert.

Robert nodded. “It has five blue stripes,” he said. “Most Banded Lutz marbles have four stripes.” He smiled. “It’s a mistake.”

George grinned. “I know a thing or two about mistakes.”

“Join the club,” chuckled Robert, tucking his marbles back into his pocket.

A sudden shuffling sound made them freeze. The boys gripped their wands tighter.

“Did you hear that?” Robert hissed in a whisper.

George nodded slowly.

Slow, horrible footsteps echoed and bounced all around them. In the darkness, their robes were the only sources of colour; Hufflepuff yellow and Gryffindor red.

Perry shivered.

“Don’t worry,” whispered George. He held up his wand, the light washing over the dark walls and illuminating the figure coming towards them.

James Gillies smirked as he approached them. “Gentlemen,” he said smugly.

George relaxed. “James, you scared the pants off of us.”

Robert’s face was unreadable.

Gillies stared at him. “Just one of you, I think.”

Robert’s shoulders hunched.

Gillies smiled, not taking his eyes off of Robert.

“Not the right way, then?” asked George.

Gillies blinked, momentarily glancing at George before turning back to Robert. “What?”

“Your way,” rephrased George, pointing down the corridor. “It wasn’t the right way?”

Gillies didn’t respond.

George stared at him, frowning. “We split up, remember? To see which way was the right way?”

Robert Perry glanced at George.

Gillies' eyes didn’t move.

George squinted, waving a hand in front of Gillies’ face. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with who?”

The boys turned.

James Gillies strolled down the corridor towards them, hands in his pockets. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a dead end down that way,” he said. He glanced around, stopping to stand nose-to-nose with… himself.

George stared at the two James Gillieses in confusion.

James, the James that had just walked in, pointed lazily at his twin. “You all miss me that much?”

Robert Perry paled, mumbling a curse under his breath as he frantically fumbled with his wand. His cheeks were bright red. His knuckles were white as he gripped his wand, pointed it at the first James Gillies and sputtered,  _ “R-riddikulus!” _

His spell had no effect, but one of the Jameses stepped forward, covering his face with his hand to hide his smile. “That’s a boggart?” he asked.  _ “I’m _ your boggart, Robert?”

Robert looked like he wanted someone to point a wand at him and make him disappear.

Gillies laughed.

The other Gillies disappeared.

“I can’t believe it!” giggled Gillies. “Robert Perry, the  _ Gryffindor, _ is scared of me!” He smirked at George. “Isn’t that the most delicious thing you’ve ever heard?” His gaze turned back to Perry, a glint in his eye. “Robert’s such a pushover that he’s scared of his own best friend.”

Robert’s bottom lip quivered, his face scrunching up like a crumpled ball of paper, like the rejected piece of writing at the bottom of a wastepaper basket. He took a small step backwards, then another, then, all in one motion, he whirled around and took off running.

“Robert!” George called, shuffling his feet to run after him. He almost tripped as James Gillies grabbed his arm.

“Leave him alone,” commanded Gillies. “He’s just going to go off in a corner somewhere and cry. He clearly wants to be alone.”

George glared at him. “That’s exactly why he  _ shouldn’t _ be alone,” he said, tugging his arm free and taking off at a sprint down the hall after his friend.

He found Robert Perry not too long after, huddled in a ball on the floor, his face buried in his knees.

“Hey,” George sat down next to him.

Robert didn’t respond.

George took a breath. “Look, you know James wasn’t laughing at you, right? He just doesn’t know how to talk to people super well. He didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Robert sighed, lifting his head up. His face was red. “You don’t know him.” He said. “Not like I do. He means every word.”

“Well—”

“Can I ask you something?” Robert stared at George.

“Of course.”

“Do you think I’m a pushover?”

“You’re not a pushover,” said George.

Robert looked at him like he didn’t believe him. “I do everything he tells me to do,” said. “But that’s because we’re friends, right? That’s what friends do?”

“Well, yeah, but,” George shuffled closer to him. “You can’t do  _ everything _ he tells you to do. You have your own stuff to worry about, right?”

Robert didn’t say anything.

“You know, it’s like, me and my other friends don’t do everything together,” said George.

“Don’t you?”

George blinked. “I’m not with them right now, am I?”

“Yeah, but you’re only here because you’re looking for boggarts for them,” pointed out Robert.

_ Oh, goodness he’s right. _ George realized.  _ I do everything they tell me to do. Why do I do that? _ He gripped his scarf tightly in his hands.

Robert sighed. “I just,” he swallowed. “I just want him to like me, you know?”

“He does like you.” George scratched the back of his head. “He’s just not great at showing it.”  _ A lot like a certain Ravenclaw I know, _ he thought to himself. He shook those thoughts out of his head.  _ Not the time, George Crabtree. Make him feel better, that’s your job right now. _ “And hey,” he smiled. “I like you.”

A shy, tentative smile spread out on Robert’s face. “Really?” he asked.

George grinned tightly. “Really.”

George moved through the rest of the day in a haze, and, for the first time since he arrived at Hogwarts, he wondered if he really belonged here.

He had always been an odd kid. He “marched to the beat of his own drum,” according to his Aunt Petunia. At muggle school, he’d never fit in. He couldn’t sit still, his mind was never on maths or science, and his classmates and teachers were always trying to get him to keep his quirks to himself. He remembered the almost weekly meetings he’d had with the Headmaster. He wasn’t a troublemaker, or he didn’t mean to be one. He just got carried away a lot. Like his history report where he did a demonstration on mummification on a banana, or the time he brought his live spider collection in for show and tell.

His whole life, he’d gotten conflicting messages from people. “Don’t act up,” “be yourself,” “try harder,” “you have so much potential,” and more things on those lines. Life was like a never-ending guessing game where everyone else seemed to know the answers and he didn’t. Was he special or just weird? Was he a bad kid or was this just the wrong place for him?

His Aunt Ivy told him once that he was a fish in a world of monkeys. “You can’t expect to be able to climb like all of them,” she said. “You have to find your ocean.”

When he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter, it was like every mirror unfogged all at once and he could finally see himself clearly. Here was a place where he didn’t have to be a screw-up. This was somewhere where everyone was a fish. Here was somewhere he belonged.

And it was better at Hogwarts. He didn’t feel like his legs were tied up in a race where everyone else was free. He could focus in class, his professors thought his creative thinking was  _ refreshing _ instead of a nuisance, and he actually had friends.

But still, even here, even at Hogwarts where everyone is weird and nobody is normal, George Crabtree didn’t fit in.

Ever since he met William Murdoch, he’d had a sneaking suspicion cross his mind every so often that the smartest boy in the entire school couldn’t actually like someone like George. Maybe he felt bad for him, a dumb little kid in Hufflepuff with no friends and no idea what he’s doing. Maybe Murdoch didn’t even think of him as a friend, just a means to an end. Someone to do the dirty work for him so he didn’t have to.

Every time that thought would rear its ugly head, George would try to push it down, suppress it, tell it to shut up because William Murdoch clearly liked him, right?

But the conversations he’d had with James and Robert kept echoing back to him.  _ What if he just keeps me around so he’ll feel smarter? What if he only hangs out with me because I do everything he says? _ He bit his lip, his fingers wrapped around his scarf as he sat down in the courtyard.

“George!”

_ Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no—  _ “Hi,” George’s voice cracked as he waved hello to William Murdoch.  _ — Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no—  _

William sat down on the stone bench next to him. “How’d boggart hunting go?”

“Fine,” he said.  _ Go away. _

“See any boggarts?”

_ No.  _ “Yeah, one.”

William’s eyes bugged out in surprise. “You saw a boggart?”

“Yeah,” said George.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” George waved his hand. “It wasn’t mine, so…”

William frowned. “Were you with someone?”

_ No. _ “Yeah, James and Robert came with me. It was Robert’s boggart.”

“Oh,” shifting uncomfortably, William’s face went a little bit red.

George noticed. “What?”

His face grew redder. “Nothing.”

George gave him a pointed look that read  _ do not lie to me right now, I am not in the mood for trickery and deception. _

William sucked in a deep breath. He ran his fingers through his neatly combed hair. “George, it’s not important.”

“It’s something about James and Robert,” guessed George. “You don’t like them?”

“I've never met Robert, so—”

“So you don’t like James?”

Murdoch glanced at him, looking flustered. He bit his lip and sighed. “I just think,” he said. “That you deserve better friends than him.”

Squinting, George studied his friend like a scientist looking at a specimen under a microscope. He was a surprisingly good mind reader. Not literally, of course; he wasn’t a legilimens or anything, but he’d always had a knack for guessing what people were thinking about and feeling, and Murdoch was easier to read than a child’s picture book. “Oh my goodness!” George’s face broke out into an uncontrollable grin. “You’re  _ jealous _ of him?”

“I am not—” 

“You are!” cried George, grinning. “You’re jealous of James Gillies!” He almost laughed. William Murdoch, the smartest wizard in all of Hogwarts, jealous of James Gillies? Sure, James was top of the class in loads of subjects, but he was still a first year. Murdoch was two years older. Surely he had more self-confidence than to be jealous of a little kid?

William glared at him. “I am  _ not _ jealous of James Gillies. I just think he’s not a nice person.”

“You think I should hang out with nicer people, huh?” George put his hands on his hips. “Which nice people?”

Murdoch blinked, looking confused. “You know, Brackenreid and I and—”

George grinned triumphantly. “See?” he said. “You  _ are _ jealous.”

“Would you stop saying that?” William folded his arms, his eyebrows furrowed. “I am not jealous.”

“What do you have against him, anyways?” asked George.

“He’s not a nice person.”

“Why not?” George stared at him, his face starting to turn sour.

“He bullies you!”

“Not since we became friends.”

Murdoch rolled his eyes. “What do you see in him anyway?” he demanded. “Why would you want  _ him _ to be your friend?”

His eyes widening, George stood up from the bench. “He’s actually nice to me,” he snapped. “He treats me like I’m just the same as he is, not like I’m a baby like you do.”

William leapt to his feet. “Hang on, when have I ever treated you like a baby?”

George scoffed. “Only all the time! You wouldn’t let me go on boggart duty, you keep asking me if I need your help with potions homework, you won’t let me go make my own friends…” He listed them off, counting them on his fingers as he spoke. “As crazy as it is for you to believe, I’m  _ eleven _ years old, and I can handle things myself.”

A flash of hurt flew across Murdoch’s face. “I’m only trying to look out for you,” he said. “That’s what friends do.”

“No!” George cried, his hands flailing in the air like a muppet. “That’s what  _ overbearing mothers _ do!”  _ How would you know, George? _ The voice inside his head asked mockingly.  _ You don’t even have a mother. _

William’s face screwed up into a tight ball, trying very hard to hold his words back. “You don’t understand how bad Gillies is, George,” he said. “He’s manipulating you, he’s making you think he’s a good person because he has other plans! He’s done a lot of bad things, George, I don’t want you involved in that. You don’t understand—”

“No, I think  _ you’re _ the one who doesn’t understand!” George’s voice rose to a yell, attracting glances from the other students in the courtyard. “He’s my  _ friend,  _ okay? You don’t have to like him, but you do have to respect him, and I am not going to sit here and let you talk about him like that.” Taking a breath, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at Murdoch.

The small crowd of students watching them gasped. Finally something interesting was happening.

William stared at the wand. “You wouldn’t.”

George glared at him, adjusting his grip on his wand. Murdoch was, unfortunately, right. He wouldn’t. He slowly lowered his wand. “I don’t insult your friends,” he spat. “Don’t insult mine.”

“All I’m saying,” said Murdoch, his voice low like he was trying to calm George down. “Is that you should be more careful about picking your friends.”

George took a step backwards, his eyes prickling with tears. Angrily, he stuffed his wand back in his pocket, drawing himself up to his full height. “You’re right,” he said. “I should have been more careful when I decided to make you my friend.” With that, he spun on his heels and walked away, leaving Murdoch to hang his head alone.

James Gillies glanced over his shoulder as he tiptoed into the boy’s dorm room. He sat on his bed, propping up a textbook to make it look like he was reading while he watched and waited for everyone to leave. Once there was no one in sight, he dropped the book, lay flat on his stomach and tipped his head upside down to peer under his bed.

A dozen or so small metal boxes greeted him. Squinting in the dark, he mentally counted them slowly.  _ One, two, three, four, five…  _ everything seemed in order.

_ Wait. _ He frowned, counting them again.  _ Eleven. _ He counted again.  _ Eleven. _

He sat up, frantically flipping through his textbook to page 207, the mostly blank page he had scribbled several tally marks in. He counted them up.  _ Twelve. _

James sat back, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath.  _ One’s missing. What do I do? _

It wasn’t just the boggart that was missing, the whole box was gone. Someone had been in here and someone had taken it.

_ It must have been when I was out with George.  _ He cursed in his mind.  _ You moron. _

It was Julia. It had to have been Julia. Now that she was part of their little group, they had eyes in every single house at Hogwarts.

Gillies cursed again.

He sighed, straightening his spine. He only had one choice left. He reached for his book bag, slid off his bed and piled all the boxes into the bag. He stood up, making sure to carry the bag so that the boxes wouldn’t clink against each other, and made his way to the dungeons.

Thomas Brackenreid sat in the Great Hall, aimlessly polishing his wand on the hem of his shirt when William Murdoch sprinted over to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him along, yelling, “We have a situation!”

“What in the bloody name of—” Thomas sputtered, yanking his arm out of his grasp. “Murdoch? What is going on?”

Murdoch took a deep breath.  _ “George and I had a fight and then he ran off to the dungeons and I went looking for him but there are boggarts everywhere and George needs help—” _

Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Murdoch…” he groaned.

“I know this is all my fault,” said Murdoch. “If I hadn’t yelled at George or if I hadn’t been so jealous of James Gillies or if I hadn’t decided to look for the boggart releaser in the first place, none of this would be happening right now!” He gulped in a lungful of air. “But that doesn’t matter right now, George is in trouble and he needs our help. Julia’s already down there, but there’s so many boggarts and we need more people, please, Brackenreid, George needs us.”

Brackenreid smiled, patting Murdoch on the shoulder.  _ “That,” _ he said. “Is how to be a good friend.” He brandished his wand with a flourish. “Let’s go bust some boggarts.”

Julia sprinted down the dark dungeon corridors. Every sound seemed to bounce all around her. She wished she hadn’t stupidly suggested splitting up to cover more ground. She wished William was here. She wanted to hold his hand…

She blushed.  _ Focus, Julia. _ She told herself.  _ George is probably terrified out of his mind, now is not the time to think about William. _

She pinched her lips together. Not thinking about William was a form of thinking about him. She sighed. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? He was just a boy. Granted, he was a fairly attractive boy and he made her heart flutter whenever she thought about him, but still. Julia could handle herself around boys, even the ones that made her feel light. Why was William Murdoch any different?

Something moved in the corridor ahead of her. A glinting light, like the glowing tip of a wand, danced like a firefly in the darkness.

She stood still.  _ “Nox,” _ she whispered. Her wand fell dark, and so did the light in front of her. She sighed, she knew what that meant. She stepped closer until she could see it right in front of her: A large, framed mirror with her own reflection showing back at her.

She raised her wand.  _ “Riddikulus,”  _ she said. Her reflection shifted into Ruby, her little sister, wearing pyjamas, covered head to toe with whipped cream. Julia giggled. She remembered playing that prank. She’d woken up early to squirt four cans worth of whipped cream all over her bed. That had been a good morning.

The mirror disappeared with a  _ poof! _

She grinned wryly.

As far as boggarts went, Julia probably had it the best. Her boggart wasn’t literal, she obviously wasn’t afraid of mirrors. According to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it represented a “deep seeded fear of her own power.”

Julia wasn’t sure about that. She didn’t fear her power, quite the opposite, in fact. If anything, she  _ reveled  _ in her power. She loved being smart and good at magic. She wasn’t afraid of her power, she was afraid it wasn’t enough. She was afraid  _ she _ wasn’t enough.

Her whole life, she had had to prove herself to everyone: her parents, her teachers, her peers. She was a girl, she was a Slytherin, she was an Ogden, she constantly had expectations she had to come up against. She always had to be better than what they thought of her, and she was terrified of the idea that there would one day be an expectation she couldn’t challenge.

It was stupid, she knew that. Julia knew she should be confident in herself and that it didn’t matter what other people thought about her, but she couldn’t help it.

Julia shuddered. She lit her wand again. She needed to stop thinking about herself.  _ George is what matters right now. _

Thomas was not afraid of boggarts. After sixteen years living in a dusty old wizarding house, he’d seen his worst fear so many times that he’d become almost desensitized to it. Or, well, he  _ thought _ he had.

For as long as he could remember, his boggart had been the same. It had terrified him when he was a little kid, he used to wake up from tearful nightmares, crying until his parents would come in and tell him that it was just a dream. He had learned to deal with it, and these days, he barely even flinched when he encountered a boggart.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t afraid anymore. Every boggart came with that pressure in his chest like something was squeezing his heart dry like a sponge. He’d just gotten used to it, that’s all.

But now, in the dungeon, he clutched his wand, his heart racing and his knees threatening to collapse. He was terrified. 

Ever since he was a little kid, his boggart had always taken the forms of one or both of his parents, lying dead on the ground. But the body lying in front of him was much smaller than either of his parents.

Thomas’ face was white as moonlight as he stared down at the motionless body of George Crabtree. The Hufflepuff’s hair stuck out in every angle, the right side of his head caked with dried blood. His striped yellow scarf curled around his neck like a mangled noose.

_ It’s a boggart, _ Thomas told himself, gritting his teeth as his fingers tightened around his wand.  _ It’s just a boggart, Crabtree’s fine. _ He took a breath, extending his wand.  _ “Riddikulus!” _ He cried, his voice wavering.

_ CRACK! _ With a loud snap, a second body joined George’s, slightly bigger, with disheveled black hair and Ravenclaw blue robes, his dark wand snapped in half, each half dangling in the middle by its unicorn hair core.

His hands shook. _Pull yourself together. They’re fine, it’s a boggart, they’re fine, nothing’s wrong, they’re fine, they’re FINE._ _“Riddikulus!”_ he screamed, holding his wand out like a sword.

_ CRACK! _ A third body appeared, with pounds of frizzy blonde curls. Julia Ogden?

_ CRACK! _ Straight, brown hair, a red prefect badge… Margaret…

_ CRACK! _ Bloody hell, was that  _ Higgins? _

Thomas breathed a strangled scream. He squeezed his eyes shut. Why wasn’t this working? He was a fifth year. He was a  _ prefect. _ What was wrong with him? Dealing with boggarts was easy. He sucked in a steadying breath.  _ “RIDDIKULUS!” _

The pile of bodies shifted. George Crabtree’s tiny frame rose from the ground, like a horrible, macabre marionette. His sickly grey arms dangled, his eyes, dull and glassy, stared at Thomas with a blank gaze.  _ "You said you'd protect us." _ His voice was hollow, like it wasn't coming from his throat but merely being projected out of his mouth.

Thomas swallowed, taking a shuddering breath. "You're a  _ boggart," _ he whispered. "You're not real."

Murdoch’s body slowly straightened like a wilted plant after getting a good watering.  _ “Doesn’t matter, does it?” _ He took a clumsy, ragdoll-like step.  _ “You’ve failed us regardless. William believed in you.” _

George’s cold fingers curled around his frayed scarf, just like the real George would.  _ “George trusted you.” _

A chorus of dead whispers rose from the bodies all around him.  _ “You promised we wouldn’t get hurt.” _

_ “It doesn’t matter if we exist.”  _ William said.  _ “We’re going to exist one day or another.” _

_ “You shouldn’t have promised.”  _ George’s waxy, dead eyes bored holes into Thomas’ heart.  _ “You can’t protect us. Now it’s your fault.” _

_ “Shut. UP.”  _ Thomas seethed. “And stay shut up.” He clenched his fists. Taking a deep, tense breath, Brackenreid raised his wand. He closed his eyes.  _ “Riddikulus!” _

The corridor was so full of butterflies, it was like walking through a conservatory, and William was not handling it well. He had lost count of how many boggarts he’d encountered at this point. Six? Ten? Twelve? All he knew was that there had been enough boggarts to turn his usual two dozen or so butterflies to a full-blown swarm of thousands, maybe even millions.

He’d used his wand only on the first boggart. It had worked, of course, the butterflies were gone and were replaced with comical, hilarious parrots, but he couldn’t get rid of them. He needed to laugh, which was near impossible since he couldn’t even make himself smile.

He’d been a jerk. He had every right to dislike James Gillies. He could hate every cell inside of him and it wouldn’t matter, because everyone is entitled to their opinion. Where he’d messed up was believing that his opinion was the truth.

He had absolutely no proof that Gillies was behind all of this. All he had was intuition and a couple dozen boxes with his name on them. They could have easily been planted by someone else.

William sighed, shoving his free hand in his pocket. A ghostly white butterfly landed on his forearm and he frantically shook and slapped at it until it flew off. He inhaled a shaky breath.

This was his fault. If he hadn’t been so opinionated, so pompous, so…  _ jealous, _ then none of this would be happening.

And yes, he was jealous. He’d never had friends. Not really. There would be the odd person every now and again who would come into his life and they would momentarily hit it off, but they’d always leave him. He didn’t want George to become one of those past acquaintances.

_ But that’s what’s going to happen, _ he realized.  _ George is going to hate you and he’ll never want to talk to you again. _

He froze, a blue butterfly flitting across his path. That was it, wasn’t it? That was what the butterflies meant. He wasn’t afraid of butterflies. He wasn’t afraid of the memory of finding his mother. William Murdoch was terrified of people leaving him.

But that was stupid, wasn’t it? The logical part of his mind screamed at him. He hadn’t lost anyone, not yet, at least. He was guaranteed to lose George as a friend if he stood around being an arrogant pig. If he found him and apologized, he at least had a chance.

But he couldn’t find him alone.

A new sense of resolve gripped him. His fingers tightened around his wand. He needed to find the others.  _ “Appare Vestigium!” _ He cried, sweeping his wand in a wide circle around him.

A powdery, golden swirl spread out into the corridor, revealing glowing footprints and traces of magic.

William grinned.  _ I’m coming, George. And I am sorry. _

George silently stole along the corridors, his wand lit and his heart in his mouth _ . I wish I hadn’t come down here,  _ he thought. He sighed.  _ I wish someone else was here with me.  _ He wished a lot of things.

Most of all, he wished he hadn’t gotten so mad at William.  _ Maybe if you hadn’t yelled at him, he’d come down here to find you. _

His foot caught on a loose cobblestone and let out a high scream as he tumbled onto the cold floor, his wand skittering away down the hall. He sat still, collecting himself for a moment, taking in the cobwebbed and dust-lined walls. He grimaced, bringing a hand to his aching head. His temple felt damp. Was he bleeding? Or just insanely sweaty?

Painfully, he pushed himself into a sitting position. It was unnaturally dark, almost impossibly dark. Where was his wand? He stood up.

_ “Ow!”  _ yelped George as his head smacked against the ceiling as he rose. He rubbed the sore spot. He was definitely going to have to have Madam Pomfrey check him out for concussions after this.

_ But wait. _ He froze. Since when were the ceilings so low that he could hit his head on them? Gingerly, he stretched out his hand above his head. About three feet above the floor, his fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. Gulping, he shuffled backwards. He gasped when his back hit a wall, far closer than it should have been. His heartbeat accelerated. He felt all around him. One wall, two, three, four, the ceiling…

_ Oh no, oh NO, NONONONONONONONONONONONONONO—  _

He had finally met his boggart.

“Julia!  _ Julia!” _

She whipped around, holding her wand out in front of her threateningly. Her curls framed her terrified but determined face. Her expression molded into one of surprise. “William?”

He grinned. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We have to find Brackenreid.”

Julia rolled her eyes. She tried not to feel William’s fingers wrapped around hers. “I’m sure the big, strong Gryffindor can handle himself.” She paused. “As a matter of fact,” she pulled her hand away from his. “I don’t need your help either.”

“I know you don’t.” William’s eyes were deep pools of brown that were impossible not to get lost in. “You can handle it by yourself, but you don’t need to.” He held out his hand. “Come with me?”

She smiled, reaching out and taking his hand.

George curled into a ball, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms hugging his legs.  _ Lot of good being a wizard is doing you, George.  _ He sucked in a thin breath.  _ Magical creature and you can’t deal with it because your wand is down the hallway. _

What was he supposed to do now?

Thomas’ words echoed back to him:  _ “Fear is like a wild horse. If you can tame the wild horse, then you can ride it, and if you can ride it, then you have power that other people don’t.” _

He squeezed his eyes shut.  _ I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid… _ He could do this. He could tame the wild horse. He just had to stop being so scared.

_ “Riddikulus!” _ The yell echoed through the corridor.  _ “Riddikulus! Riddikulus! _ Bugger it all, why aren’t you working?”

Julia and William exchanged a look in the darkness. They readied their wands.

They weren’t prepared for the sight that greeted them when they turned the corner: Thomas Brackenreid, screaming with frustration as his spell failed again and again, zombie versions of them blaming him for their fates.

_ “You said you’d be there for us,”  _ whispered zombie William.  _ “We trusted you to protect us. What a mistake that was; you can’t even banish a boggart.” _

_ “Riddikulus!” _ Brackenreid cursed when nothing happened. “Bloody HELL, JUST VANISH YOU STUPID, BLOODY BOGGART!”

Julia appeared beside him, grinning. “Brackenreid,” she smirked. “Relax.”

Thomas stared at her. “Bloody hell, Ogden.” He glanced at William.

Murdoch smiled, giving him a two-fingered salute. He pointed his wand at the small army of zombies.  _ “Riddikulus!” _

Zombie George’s left foot began to tap. Zombie William and Zombie Julia grabbed each other’s hands.

“Are they…?” Julia blinked.

Thomas nodded. “They are.”

The three of them watched as a dozen reanimated dead bodies sprang to their feet, dancing like they were trying to win the grand prize at a disco contest.

William smiled. “It’s missing something.” He said. He waved his wand.

Multicoloured beams of light shot out, spinning around and around like the best rave light show imaginable.

The way their limp limbs flailed about as they danced in complete silence, with a laser light show flashing all around them, it was too ridiculous to hold back laughter.

As the boggart vanished, Thomas chuckled, turning to the others with a smile. “Thanks,” he said. He scratched the back of his head, smiling meekly. “I’ve, uh… My boggart is usually different.”

“No need to explain.” Murdoch twirled his wand. He glanced at his own hand, impressed that he’d managed to pull off a maneuver that looked so effortlessly cool. “Let’s go find George.”

“I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid…” George whispered the words over and over, hoping that the more he said them, the more he would start to believe them.

He had hoped this wouldn't be his boggart. He had other fears: the dark, heights, choking, the dentist… Why did it have to be small spaces?

George had been claustrophobic for pretty much his whole life. He couldn’t stand elevators or phone booths and he avoided closets or dressing rooms at clothing stores like the plague. Aunt Marigold used to tell him that it was because his imagination was too big for the world around him and that was why he always felt so uncomfortable.

He sucked in a breath. The darkness was both a blessing and a curse. Usually when he was in a tight place, the walls would appear to move closer and closer, like a horrifying, awful trash compactor going to squash him. The walls of this boggart box were too dark to see, which was nice, because he couldn’t picture them closing in on him, but it left room for his imagination to run absolutely wild. There could be anything in the box with him.

_ Stop it. Stop thinking like that. Just stop being afraid. _

“It’s a good thing it’s so dark.” Taking a step, Murdoch stared down at the glowing trail on the floor. “George has his wand lit. That makes it easier to track traces of magic.”

The three of them moved quickly through the corridors.

Julia pursed her lips. She sighed. “You think he’s okay?”

“He can handle himself.” Thomas took a breath. “He’s fine.”

Glancing at him with big eyes, Julia bit her lip. “Are you telling me that because you believe it or because you want to make me feel better?”

“Both.” Thomas smiled decisively. “I know he’s fine.”

Murdoch stopped. He pointed down the hall. “Look.”

A glowing wand lay on the stone floor, several feet away.

“George?” called Julia.

There was a pause. “H-hullo?” asked a tiny voice.

“George!” Thomas scanned the hall. “Where are you?”

“There’s… a box…” the moment the words were out, George was suddenly visible. He looked surprised to suddenly find that, instead of a box surrounding him, he had a dead doppelganger lying beside him. He yelped, shuffling away from it. “Uh…” he swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s creepy.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Thomas, reaching down and helping him to his feet. “Good to see you.” He said.

George smiled. “Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you for coming.”

William stared at the floor. “George,” he said. “I’m sorry. I need to let you make your own friends.” His cheeks were red. “I let my opinions cloud my judgement, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. His eyes were teary. “You don’t have to forgive me. You can hate me. But I want you to know that…” he sniffed. “I really like being around you, and I value you so much, so…” He wiped away a tear. “Please don’t hate me.”

George blinked. He reached out, grabbing William’s sweater. “I value you too,” he said, pulling him into a hug.

William looked surprised. “You’re forgiving me?”

George giggled. “And people say you’re supposed to be smart.”

“Aw,” Julia clutched her heart.

“I’m going to get diabetes from this, aren’t I?” Thomas muttered.

Dead George jerked, standing up straight and melting into a mirror, reflecting all of their confused faces. After a second, it shattered all on its own, the glass shards growing wings, fluttering all around them.

“What’s happening?” Julia swatted a butterfly out of her hair.

“The boggart’s confused.” William smiled. “All our fears are confusing it.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” asked Thomas, a determined look on his face. “Let’s bust a boggart.”

“Wait.” George took a breath. He looked at the others. “I want to do it. Myself.”

Julia frowned. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You don’t have to, we can help.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Thomas patted him on the back. “You don’t have to prove to us you can do it, Bugalugs,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not it.” George shook his head. He tossed the loose end of his scarf over his shoulder. “I want to prove it to myself.”

Smiling proudly, Thomas ruffled the Hufflepuff’s hair. “Spoken like a Gryffindor,” he said.

William nodded. He walked down the hall. He stooped down, picking up George’s wand. “Here,” he grinned, flinging it towards him.

George reached up, catching it without even blinking. “Thanks,” he breathed.

Thomas stared at him, looking impressed. He winked at George. “Beat its arse for us, Crabtree.”

The three of them took a few steps back and held their breaths.

George gripped his wand, took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The butterflies surrounded him, more and more of them, packing in closer and closer together, until the space between them disappeared entirely.

For a terrible moment, there was nothing but silence. Julia bit her lip, Thomas clenched his fists in anticipation, and William clutched his wand behind his back, fighting the urge to banish the boggart himself.

_ “Riddikulus!” _ George’s voice was confident and strong. Julia had never heard him sound like that before.

Dissolving like a piece of cotton candy in a glass of water, the boggart dissipated into the air, leaving George standing, breathing heavily, a proud smile on his face. “I did it,” he whispered. He turned to beam at the others. “I did it!”

A week later, all of the boggarts had disappeared from the halls of Hogwarts. The nervous energy had flown away.

George laughed, waving goodbye to James Gillies and Robert Perry, carrying his lunch tray to a table near the fireplace in the Great Hall. He slid in beside William Murdoch.

William smiled. “Hi,” he said.

Julia waved.

“Crabtree!” Thomas grinned. “Just the person I wanted to see.” He pointed at him with his fork. “Back in the dungeons, Murdoch threw your wand at you. You caught it like it was nothing.”

George shrugged. “I used to help my Aunt Ivy with her tennis.” He flattened his mashed potatoes on his plate. “I was her ball boy. I got good at catching things.”

“How’s your broom work?” asked Thomas, leaning forward.

“Nothing special. Why?” 

Julia smiled. “Brackenreid and I were talking,” she said. “We think you might be Seeker material.”

Nodding, Thomas took a sip of water. “So, if you’re interested, I have a proposition for you.” He rested his elbows on the table. “I’ll teach you how to fly, the fancy stuff, things Madam Hooch won’t teach you, and next year you can try out for the Hufflepuff team.”

Lighting up, George beamed. “This is going to be  _ awesome!” _ He squealed. “Of course I’m interested!”

Murdoch stared across the Great Hall. He was only half listening to the conversation.

James Gillies stared back at him, sipping pumpkin juice from a glass.

After a week of nothing, they’d decided to drop the case. They didn’t have enough evidence to confront Gillies, and they didn’t have anything new to prove or disprove his fault. The others had moved on, but William…

His eyes narrowed, watching Gillies talk to Robert Perry. There was something about Gillies that didn’t sit right with him. William would keep an eye on him. He turned back to his lunch. The others were laughing. He managed a smile.


	6. Mur-Deck the Halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the last few hours before the train leaves to take the gang home for Christmas break, Murdoch keeps trying to find more and more ways to keep his friends from getting on the train for as long as possible. Meanwhile, Watts loses a toad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is like a little late for Christmas, but it's still the holiday season, so... sue me, I'm posting it anyways.
> 
> Also, yay, I finally got to write Watts! He is HARD, probably the hardest character so far for me, but hopefully I did okay.
> 
> Wishing everyone the happiest of holidays! You are awesome!

George’s socks were wet. A trickle of snot threatened to drip down his nose, and he kept having to sniff loudly to keep it at bay. The snow crunched underfoot. His hands burned from the cold. He shoved them deeper into his pockets.

Despite the cold, a warmth bubbled in his chest. Green trails of holly curled around lamp posts, red and gold garlands strung up on every house. A twinkling rainbow of lights lit up the streets, not hung up with wires or cords like the Christmas lights he’d seen back home. These were tiny orbs of light floating in the air all on their own, and every now and again, they would shoot up into the air and explode like little fireworks. He couldn’t help his smile.

A hand ruffled his hair. “Better than muggle decorations?” Thomas Brackenreid smirked, folding his arms across his chest.

George nodded. “It’s amazing,” he said. He was loving his first trip to Hogsmeade. He’d never been to a wizarding village before, except for Diagon Alley, but he’d been so excited there that he couldn’t take everything in properly. He only wished he had more than a few hours to spend in Hogsmeade before he had to leave.

Julia beamed. “You should see the decorations at my house,” she said. “My mum’s pyrotechnics are much better than these ones. She makes the fireworks look like little snowflakes.” Her giant, fluffy Father Christmas hat slid down in front of her eyes, and she pushed it up with annoyance.

“That’s way cooler than any of the lights back home,” said George. “They’re all just electric lights on houses.”

“That’s it?” asked Murdoch, his eyebrows raised. “No fireworks? No stars? No enchanted reindeer statues?”

“Well, there is that house down the street with the tacky inflatable Father Christmas on the roof…”

Thomas shook his head, smiling. “Muggles,” he said. “I’ll never understand them.”

“Well, what do wizard families do for Christmas?” asked George.

Thomas chuckled. “Probably about the same as you, Crabtree, the holiday’s still the same.”

“Okay, well, how about your family?”

Thomas shrugged. “Church in the morning, presents after dinner, the usual.” He pushed his hands in his pockets. “My grandparents usually come over for dinner, and we have turkey and potatoes and Yorkshire pudding.” He swung his arms. “My family’s simple, nothing too fancy at my house.” He eyed Murdoch. “What about you? What happens in the Murdoch house for Christmas?”

William cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We used to have a big celebration, with dinner and lots of guests, but since my mum died…” He scratched the back of his neck. “My dad’s not one of those holiday people, so it’s up to me and my sister.” He smiled. “There’s a forest behind our house, and there’s this little fir tree. Every year after Mass, Susannah and I decorate it with popcorn strings and things, and we give each other gifts.”

“Aw,” cooed George and Julia in unison.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Murdoch breathed a sigh, a cloudy puff of air releasing into the sky. “It’ll be different this year,” he said. “Susannah’s staying at her boarding school over the holidays, so…” he shrugged. “We’ll see what happens this year.”

They walked past a large conifer strung with glittering golden garlands. Enchanted candles poked out from among boughs of needles.

Julia gazed up at it, her face lit up by a faint, Mona Lisa-esque smile. “At my house,” she said. “We bake gingerbread men and decorate a house.” She giggled. “My dad always enchants the cookies so they move around. My little sister Ruby used to try to catch them running around on the counter.” She brushed her curls out of her face. “Afterwards, we go outside and my mum sets up a magic fireworks show for us. She does Quidditch pre-shows and things, so it’s marvellous.”

Thomas nudged George with his elbow. “What about you, Crabtree? What’s a muggle Christmas look like at your house?”

George grinned. “Well, last year, all my aunts and I went to a movie theatre— that’s like a big theatre where they show moving pictures— and we watched Star Wars…” He tapped his chin. “Which is this movie about people in space with laser swords and spaceships and robots and things. I’d never seen it before, so my aunts took me to see it. It’s a really cool movie, I especially like the part where—”

Murdoch cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t going to spoil it, don’t worry.” George smiled.

“So is that your tradition?” asked Julia. “Your parents invite all your aunts over and you have a party?”

George froze, his hands flying to grab his scarf. “Um… yeah,” he said. “My parents invite all my aunts over.” He forced a smile.

George wasn’t the type to keep secrets. He wasn’t great at it, and usually, no matter how hard he tried, he’d end up sharing them anyway. But the one secret that he had never told anyone at Hogwarts about was about his parents.

At muggle school, everyone always knew without him having to tell anyone, and everyone always looked at him differently because of it. The worst part was that the kids at school never knew the whole truth, and they would ask him about it and he’d always have to explain. He hated explaining.

“How many aunts do you have anyway, George?” Murdoch asked. “It feels like every time you talk about them, you’re talking about a different one.”

“Fifteen,” said George. “But there’s a few more who don’t live with us, but they come around every now and again.”

“Are they all your mum’s sisters or your dad’s?”

George hesitated, sucking in his cheeks. “A little bit of both,” he lied. “My m-mum and dad both have big families.”

“But there’s just you?” asked Julia.

“Yup.” George sucked in a breath. “Just me.”

Thomas laughed, ruffling George’s hair. “They had you and figured they didn’t want to deal with another Crabtree, eh?”

George ducked out from under his hand, his heart aching. “Yeah,” he said hollowly. “They didn’t want that.” The annoying voice in his head whispered,  _ they didn’t want YOU. _

The four of them stopped outside of the train station. The tracks were empty, but the station was bustling with life. Students in Hogwarts uniforms milled about, clutching bags and suitcases, ready to go home for the winter break.

Brackenreid glanced at his watch. “We still have two hours before the train leaves,” he said. “What do we want to do?”

Murdoch leapt up, placing a hand on George’s shoulder. “George has never been to Honeydukes,” he said.

“I’ve never been anywhere in Hogsmeade before,” George pointed out.

“Exactly,” said William. “Which is why you need to see everything. Starting with Honeydukes, the best sweet shop around.”

“Well.” George scratched the back of his neck with a shrug. “I like sweets.”

Murdoch led them through the aisles of Honeydukes, pointing out the best sweets. Brackenreid bought a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and they had a good time sampling beans.

Murdoch’s lime green bean turned out to be grass flavour, not exactly pleasant, but not awful either. Julia picked a light yellow bean that ended up tasting like cheese, which she was pleased with. Brackenreid’s purple bean tasted of lavender soap, leaving everyone curious as to how exactly he knew what lavender soap tasted like.

George picked a bright orange one. “I can’t think of anything that’s orange that doesn’t taste good,” he said, popping it into his mouth. He instantly made a face.

“What is it?” asked Julia.

Grimacing, George swallowed. “Butternut squash,” he groaned.

“Well, that’s not bad!” cried Brackenreid.

“When you’ve had my Aunt Ivy’s butternut squash soup,” said George. “You’ll never be able to eat the stuff again.”

Brackenreid passed him the box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. “Here,” he said. “You can share it with your family.”

George took it, a mischievous grin forming on his face. “I’ll try to give my aunts bogey flavoured ones,” he said wickedly.

Chuckling, Thomas clapped a hand on George’s shoulder. “Write me an owl and tell me how your mum and dad react to them.”

George’s eyes went a little bit wide, his cheeks flushing. “Right,” he said. His smile returned to his face, perhaps more forced than before. “I’ll try to save the vomit flavoured ones for them.”

Once they were finished at Honeydukes, at Murdoch’s suggestion, they moved to Zonko’s joke shop, where Brackenreid nearly got his nose bitten off by a teacup. They visited Tomes and Scrolls, a tiny book shop where Murdoch and Julia geeked out over leather bound volumes while Brackenreid and George tried to find the thriller or paranormal fantasy sections. From there, they went to the local branch of Ollivander’s wand shop, where they played around with wands. They were kicked out after Thomas accidentally broke a shelf after waving a willow wand.

Outside the shop, Julia glanced at a clock tower a few blocks away. “An hour and a half left,” she said. “What should we do next?”

“No trip to Hogsmeade is complete without a trip to the Three Broomsticks,” said Brackenreid. “Crabtree, have you ever had butterbeer?”

“Yes,” said George. “You’ve brought me bottles of the stuff loads of times.”

Brackenreid shushed him. “No, I haven’t,” he said. “That’s  _ illegal _ and  _ against the rules. _ ” He smirked. “I’m a  _ prefect.  _ I would  _ never break the rules.” _ He waved the crew forward. “To the Three Broomsticks, then?”

“Wait!” cried William, holding his hands out. He cleared his throat. “Erm, you all like Quidditch, don’t you? Why don’t we go look at the sporting shop? Last minute gift shopping?”

Brackenreid raised an eyebrow at him. “We only have ninety minutes, Murdoch, we can’t do everything.”

“I know,” said Murdoch. “But this won’t take long. Besides,” he shrugged. “Shouldn’t we finish off at the Three Broomsticks? End on a high note?”

Thomas shrugged. “All right,” he said. “You’re usually right on things like this.”

On the outside, Spintwitches Sporting Needs looked like a tiny little shop tucked away in a corner, but once they stepped inside, they realized that it was almost as big as the Gryffindor Common Room. The walls were lined with racing brooms of various colours and models, dragon’s hide gloves, and various Quidditch balls bouncing around in cages.

“Wow,” said George, staring in awe at the brooms.

Brackenreid and Julia were equally breathless. “Wow is right,” said Julia, skipping across the store. “Look at this!” she pointed at a handsome black broom, with a sleek design and tight, neat hairs. “A brand new Comet 290!”

Thomas nodded. “It’s nice,” he said. “But look at this!” He gestured towards a dark, fiery red broom with hairs that stuck out in all directions like a porcupine. “A real, genuine Nimbus 1000,” he breathed. “First ever racing broom to reach 100 miles per hour.” He sighed lovingly. “Percival Giles has one, you know, one of the Ravenclaw chasers? I’d give my left arm to try one out.”

“Well, you don’t have to give your left arm,” said George, examining the price tag. “This one’s going for a mere 950 galleons.”

The others laughed.

“That’s more than I think I’ve ever gotten in my allowance,” said Brackenreid.

“Do you all even understand wizarding money?” asked George. “Because I can’t handle these exchange rates. Seventeen knuts in a sickle?”

“That’s seventeen sickles in a galleon,” corrected Murdoch. “And twenty-nine knuts in a sickle. It’s quite simple, actually.”

Brackenreid shook his head slightly. “It’s really not.”

“What’s muggle money like?” asked Julia.

“Well, it’s pounds,” explained George. “And then there’s p, too, pence, I mean. There’s one hundred pence in a pound.” He shrugged. “That’s about it.”

“Does it really come in paper?” Julia adjusted her hat.

“Fives, tens, twenties and fifties are in paper,” said George. “Those are pounds. And you can get one pound and two pound coins too. The rest of the coins are p’s.”

“But that’s so easy.”

“Isn’t that sort of the point?”

Julia shrugged. “I suppose wizards keep money complicated because it makes it more important somehow.”

Murdoch wandered the aisles, looking at broom servicing kits, considering if he should get one for Julia, when he tripped over something on the floor. William flipped head over heels, landing in a heap on the ground.

“Apologies,” said a hoarse voice. A hunched, skinny figure rose up from the ground. “I suppose I should have warned you that I was crouched down on the ground.”

Murdoch rubbed his head, sitting up. “It’s all right,” he said, looking up at the person he had tripped over. His eyes narrowed with recognition. “Watts?” he asked incredulously.

Llewellyn Watts, the clumsy second year from Murdoch’s potions class brushed his brown curls out of his eyes. “Oh, Murdoch,” he said. “Hullo.”

“I didn’t know you liked Quidditch.”

Watts looked confused. “I don’t.” He said.

“Then why are you here?” Murdoch frowned, waving his hands around. “This is a sporting goods store.”

“Oh is it?” asked Watts, distractedly. “I hadn’t noticed.” He sniffed. “I’m looking for my toad, have you seen it?” He held his hands about half a foot apart. “It’s about this big.”

William shook his head. “I haven’t seen any toads around.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Sorry.”

Watts looked disappointed. “I need to find it before the train leaves,” he said. “It’s my sister’s toad; she’ll kill me if I’ve lost it.” He shook his fingers through his hair. “Wait!” He lit up suddenly, looking at Murdoch. “You’re a detective, aren’t you?”

“Sort of,” said William. “I’ve solved a few mysteries here and there.”

“Well, here.” Watts gestured his hands around. “Mystery! The case of the missing toad! You can help me find my toad.”

“Well, we’re actually in a bit of a—” He stopped suddenly. His cheeks flushed slightly pink, and he smiled. “Sorry, never mind. Yes, of course I’ll help!”

Watts’ eyes widened. “Really?”

Murdoch nodded. “In fact,” he said, motioning for Watts to follow him. “I’ll get my team on it too.”

His ‘team’ was not very happy about that.

“Murdoch, we don’t have time!” Brackenreid groaned, glancing at his watch. “We’ve only got an hour left before the train leaves, and there’s no bloody way we can find a toad in an hour.”

Julia bit her lip. “Look, I love a good mystery as much as you do, William, bt we just don’t have the time.”

“We won’t have time if we keep talking in here.” William put his hands on his hips. “Besides, Watts has to catch that train too, and he can’t do that without his toad, can he?”

Thomas crossed his arms. “Last time I checked, a toad isn’t a life or death priority.”

“But it’s important to Watts,” said George. He moved to stand next to William and Watts. “I’ll help.”

Julia looked at the floor. “Sorry,” she whispered to Brackenreid, shuffling over to the others. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Thomas sighed deeply. “It better take five minutes at most to find that bloody toad, or else I might throttle someone.”

Twenty minutes later, Thomas Brackenreid wanted to plunge his head into a brick wall. “Aren’t toads supposed to be cold blooded?” He asked, trudging through a snow bank.

“They are,” said Julia, who was his search partner.

“So, statistically, shouldn’t the toad be dead at this point?”

“Actually, toads hibernate, I think,” she said. “So, it’s probably not dead, just sleeping somewhere in the snow.”

“Perfect,” Thomas grumbled. “That’s so much better.” He kicked up a small pile of snow, turning to Julia with a frown. “Do you think Murdoch seems a bit… edgy to you?”

“What do you mean?” 

Thomas folded his arms. “He keeps jumping in with things to do.”

Julia shrugged, brushing some snow off of her knees. “He might just be excited,” she said. “It’s nearly Christmas break.”

“Murdoch doesn’t get excited,” Brackenreid said pointedly. “Not about normal things like Christmas. Besides,” he glanced at his watch. “He definitely knows that we’re almost out of time. Why does he keep suggesting things for us to do? It’s almost like he’s  _ trying _ to make us late.”

“What kind of toad is it, again?” asked George.

“Natterjack toad.” Watts dug a hole in the snow and peered inside. “All brown with spots and a yellow stripe down its back.”

Murdoch scanned the snow for holes. “We checked the sports shop, Honeydukes, Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop… You haven’t been in any other shops today?”

Watts shook his head. “Which means he must be hibernating in the snow.”

George watched him dig. “What’s his name?”

Blinking at him, Watts stopped digging in confusion. “What’s whose name?”

“Your toad.”

_ “Her,” _ corrected Watts. “She’s a girl toad. Her name is Athena. She’s my sister’s.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” George aimlessly packed a handful of snow into a ball and tossed it against a building. “What house is she in?”

Watts looked down. “She… doesn’t go to Hogwarts.”

Murdoch frowned. “Is she a squib?”

“No.” Watts shook his head. “She just… doesn’t live with us right now.”

George blinked. “What’s a squib?” He asked.

Murdoch opened his mouth to explain, but Watts beat him to it.

“You know how wizards can come from muggle families?” He asked, standing up and clasping his hands together.

“Yes.” George said flatly. “That’s me.”

Watts nodded slowly. “Well, a squib is a muggle who comes from a wizard family.”

Murdoch glared at him. “Squibs are not muggles,” he said. “Muggles are people who don’t know about the wizarding world. Squibs know about magic.” His older sister Susannah was a squib, and he often felt the need to jump to their defense because of her.

Shrugging, Watts bent down and began digging again.

“Oi!” Thomas and Julia jogged across the street, waving at them.

“You haven’t found it?” asked Julia.

George shook his head.

Brackenreid checked his watch. “We’ve got forty minutes before the train leaves,” he said. “I think it’s time we go grab a quick Butterbeer and then get on the train.”

“No, wait, please!” Watts looked down at the snow with a sniff. “I… I need to find my toad. She’s my sister’s, and…” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I need to keep her safe for when my sister comes…” He paused. “When my sister wants her back.”

George’s heart twinged. He didn’t know Watts, and he didn’t know what had happened to his sister, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t around for one reason or another. George knew what that felt like. He knew what it was like to have someone important leave him, and he knew he’d do anything if he thought it would get them back. “Can’t we look for a few more minutes?” he asked. “I’ve had butterbeer before anyways.”

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Crabtree,” he said. “We talked about this, we won’t indulge every single one of your humanitarian whims. Remember the spider?” He shuddered.  _ “I _ remember the spider.”

“His name is Webster!”

“I don’t bloody care what its name is.” Thomas waved his hand. “The point is, we drew the line at the spider. We won’t drop everything for every little pity project you find. Just because it’s a cute toad lost and alone—” 

“This isn’t a pity project,” insisted George. “This isn’t about the toad.” He looked at them with huge, pleading eyes. “Please, can’t we look for a few more minutes?”

"Yes, Brackenreid, a few more minutes," said Murdoch.

Brackenreid crumpled at George’s sad, puppy dog eyes. “Fine,” he said.  _ “Five _ minutes, and then we run over to the Three Broomsticks, understand?”

George nodded, refusing the urge to run up and hug him. “Thank you,” he said.

Thomas sighed. "Five minutes."

"Thank you," said Watts to George, about two minutes into the search.

"Don't mention it," said George. He shrugged, slowing down so that the others ahead of them would be further away. "I know what it's like."

"You know what it's like to lose a toad?"

"I know what it's like to lose a  _ person." _ George looked pointedly at him.

Watts flushed, hunching his shoulders even more than usual. "Clarissa isn't gone," he said. "She's out there somewhere, and she'll come back."

"I know," said George softly. He swallowed. "My parents left one day." His fingers curled around his scarf. "So now I live with my aunts."

"But they'll come back one day," said Watts. He was trying his best to be reassuring. "...Just like Clarissa."

George nodded. "Yeah."

The boys smiled humorlessly at each other. They were silent for a while, Watts scratching his head and George clinging tightly to his scarf.

"You're Crabtree, aren't you?" Asked Watts.

George nodded.

"Murdoch talks about you sometimes in Potions." Said Watts.

"How are you in his potions class anyways?" Asked George. "Aren't you a second year?"

Watts rolled his eyes. "Apparently, I aced every exam in first year, so Professor Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick decided I needed a challenge and put me in third year Potions, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts." He huffed. "I am definitely challenged now, all right. Every Gryffindor in Defense Against the Dark Arts wants to pound me, every Ravenclaw in Potions thinks I think I'm smarter than they are— I  _ don't," _ he added. "And the Hufflepuffs in Charms act like I'm their little baby brother who needs help with everything and can't think for himself."

"Boy, do I know how that feels," George said. He jerked a thumb at the others. "They're always treating me like a baby."

Watts smiled. "Well, you are sort of a baby," he said. "To them."

George glared at him. "I'm almost twelve," he said, even though his birthday was months away. "And twelve is practically a teenager."

"And Brackenreid is fifteen," he said. "Murdoch and Ogden are thirteen. You're a little kid to them."

George crossed his arms. "I could tell them to stop looking for your toad at any time, you know."

Watts shrugged. "Well," he said. "Maybe it isn't that important."

"What, not that important that I'm a baby?"

He shook his head. "Not that important to find my toad," he said. "I suppose…" he paused, swallowing. "I suppose Clarissa wouldn't exactly know if I got a different Natterjack toad. They do all look almost the same."

"But… the toad… if you let the toad go, then…"

Watts shrugged. "It isn't as if finding the toad would magically make her appear, and leaving the toad wouldn't force her to stay away forever."

George looked down. "I… I suppose."

Grinning, Watts shoved his hands in his pockets. “Oh,  _ UGH!” _ He yanked his hand out, shaking it in the air in disgust.

“What?”

“Something slimy in my pocket,” said Watts, rubbing his fingers off on his robes. “It’s all right, probably an apple I left in there too long or something.”

George stared at him.

“What?”

“Watts, your  _ toad.” _

His eyes widened, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a grumpy-looking, Natterjack toad. He stared at it for a few seconds. “Ah,” he said. “That’s where I put you.”

Brackenreid nearly strangled Watts when the toad was revealed, but Julia talked him out of it, and the crew made their way to the Three Broomsticks to grab a quick glass of Butterbeer before their train.

Murdoch leapt in front of the others as they tried to sit down at a table. “You don’t want to sit there,” he said. “Wouldn’t a booth be nicer?”

Sliding into a booth, they drank their Butterbeer. Thomas guzzled his mug down in three seconds flat, Julia sipped hers delicately but quickly, and George drained his glass, sporting a white foam moustache on his upper lip afterwards.

Watts gulped his drink down, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. He rose to his feet. “Well, this has been wonderful,” he said. “But I have to go. If I go any later, I’ll miss the train, and my godparents will kill me if I miss Hanukkah.”

George waved goodbye as he left.

Brackenreid eyed Murdoch. “You better finish that quick,” he said. “Train leaves in ten minutes.”

Murdoch took a sip from his nearly full mug of Butterbeer. “We’ll make it on time,” he said. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Five minutes later, Murdoch’s glass was still brimming with Butterbeer, and the others were growing increasingly anxious, glancing at the clock on the wall, tapping the table with their fingers or bouncing their legs up and down.

William sucked off a thin layer of foam from the surface of the glass.

Brackenreid threw up his hands, sliding out from the booth. “Right,” he said. “Sorry, Murdoch, I can’t stay. I’m not going to be late for Christmas.”

Julia flushed as she stood. “Sorry,” she said. “But he’s right, if we don’t leave now, we’ll miss the train for sure, and it’s the last train today.”

All their eyes turned to George.

He hunched his shoulders, looking down at the floor as he dragged himself to his feet. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just… it’s Christmas and…” He bit his lip. “Bye,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” said the others, turning around slowly.

Murdoch stared down at his drink. He clenched his fist, shaking his head.  _ Don’t. _ He told himself.  _ Just don’t. _

His hand reached into his pocket, feeling his wand.

_ Don’t. _

He pulled it out.

_ DO NOT. _

He wet his lips.  _ “Avis,” _ he whispered, flicking his wand.

What followed was pure chaos. A massive flock of pigeons exploded from the tip of his wand with a loud blast, spreading throughout the pub like enormous evil snowflakes. The birds got straight to work pecking guests, stealing food and defecating all over the floors.

Thomas and Julia yelped, ducking underneath a table.

George was late to react, and a rather large pigeon with an iridescent purple ruff around its neck dropped a splattering bomb on his head. It looked like cottage cheese. Grimacing, he dove under a table, his hand reaching to touch it but deciding against it.

Madam Rosmerta, the owner of the Three Broomsticks, stood staring at the scene in shock, her mouth agape. A bird landed on her shoulder.

Finally, a short old wizard with a pair of round glasses on the tip of his pointy nose waved his wand and all the birds disappeared with a flash. He looked very stern, his gaze darting around the pub. “Which blithering idiot cast the Bird-Conjuring charm?” he asked.

Julia’s eyes widened, and she glanced at William, who was shrinking down in his seat. She smacked Thomas to get him to pay attention, but he was looking out the window in dismay.

“The train,” he said.

She looked.

Out the window, the bright, tomato-red locomotive puffed out of the station, a cloud of white steam trailing behind it as it sang a farewell whistle.

Madam Rosmerta was not at all pleased when William confessed to casting the charm. She set him to work cleaning the remaining bird poop off of the floors, and put a formal warning on him, which meant if he ever was the cause of another disturbance again, he’d be banned from the Three Broomsticks for life.

After sending owls to their families explaining that they’d missed the train and that they'd be late coming home, Thomas, Julia, George and William pooled their money to pay for a room to sleep in for one night at the Hog’s Head Inn. Julia wanted to stay at the Three Broomsticks, but Thomas told her not to push their luck with Madam Rosmerta.

They only had money for a room with a single bed, but the clerk had been nice enough to give them three extra pillows and blankets free of charge. Their room was slightly bigger than a closet. The walls were a pale vomit yellow, with rough, creaky floorboards and a dusty old sofa that looked like it hadn’t been washed since the Middle Ages. In the corner was a large spider’s web.

Everyone agreed that, being the youngest, George should get the bed for the night. He pulled up the mattress and the covers to check for bed bugs before sliding in.

“It’s not too bad,” he said, shifting around to try to find a comfortable position. “The sheets are pretty scratchy, but all in all, it’s all right.”

“Right,” sighed Thomas. “Who wants the sofa?”

Julia folded her arms. “I don’t want to sound rude,” she sniffed. “But I think that you or I should have it, considering we are the  _ victims _ here.”

William, sitting in the corner, studied the spider web and didn’t say anything.

Brackenreid ran a hand down the side of his face. “You take it, Ogden,” he said. “Girls shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Neither should boys,” mumbled Julia, but she took the sofa.

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” said Thomas. The only bathroom with a sink was a two minute walk down the hall. He stopped in the doorway, peeking behind him. “If I’m not back in five minutes, organize a search party.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Julia, getting to her feet. “I’ll make sure no one murders you in the hall.”

As the door closed behind them, there was a terrible, awkward silence for several moments. George squirmed under the scratchy sheets. They felt like burlap sacks. It was like lying on top of an ant hill.

William poked at the spider web with his wand silently.

George sighed. “Why did you do it?” he asked. When Murdoch didn’t say anything, he went on. “Did you just want to ruin Christmas for us?”

Murdoch’s eyes went wide, and he leaned against the wall. “I didn’t mean to ruin things,” he said quietly.

“Well you did.” George glared. “Because of you, I’m missing my Aunt Primrose’s soup, and they might think I don’t want to come back and then they’ll send me—” he broke off suddenly, hiding his face in his blanket.

William stared at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to ruin your plans. I just thought…” He sighed, letting his legs fall to the floor. “I just wanted a few more minutes with you all. My sister’s away at boarding school this year and it’ll be just me and my father, and…” He swallowed. “I just wanted a little bit more time to spend with you guys before I had to torture myself with my dad.” He groaned, gazing up at the water-stained ceiling. “But I ruined everything. I even ruined the time we had together in the first place.” He sighed. “I’m a horrible person.”

Taking a deep breath, George uncurled his fists. “I lied to you,” he said after a moment. “I… I don’t spend Christmas with my parents. They don’t… I don’t live with them anymore. They gave me up when I was a little kid. My aunts aren’t really my aunts, they’re just my foster family. I didn’t tell you earlier because I thought you would…” He bit his lip. “Because you would think it was weird.”

Murdoch stared at him with eyes the size of lollipops.

“But,” George went on slowly. “You know, it doesn’t really matter who you’re with. Christmas means whatever you want it to mean. It doesn’t have to be the same every year for it to be special. Last year, I went to the movies with my aunts, and the year before that, I was at a different foster home and I didn’t even know them.” He shrugged. “Christmas is  _ weird. _ It’s the darkest, coldest time of the year but we make it feel warm and happy. Watts and Julia celebrate it and they don’t even believe in Christmas.”

Murdoch blinked.

“I guess… what I mean to say is…” George smiled. “I don’t have a proper family, but, if you want, you can come to my aunts’ house for Christmas and celebrate with us.”

William smiled. “I’d like that,” he said.

“Aw.” Julia and Thomas stood in the doorway, watching the scene play out in front of them.

William blushed. “How long were you standing there?” he asked.

“Long enough,” said Brackenreid, smiling. “I forgive you for releasing a flock of demon pigeons in a pub, Murdoch. Just don’t do it ever again, or I swear I will grab you by the back of the neck and push your head through a Potions textbook.”

William nodded. Regardless, he wouldn’t dream of doing that ever again, but this gave him extra incentive. That threat seemed way too specific to have been improvised.

Julia smiled. “I’ll send you a Christmas card,” she said. “And a present. I was going to anyways, but I’ll make sure to make it extra nice.”

“Thanks,” said Murdoch.

Thomas folded his arms. “Oh, well, I suppose if you wanted to, the invitation is open to join the Brackenreids for our Christmas eve feast.”

“He’s coming to my house for Christmas day, though!” called George. “I already called dibs.”

Later, after almost an hour of swapping Christmas stories and sharing traditions, Thomas stretched his back, smiling. He elbowed Murdoch, nodding towards the bed.

George was curled up in the brown blanket, fast asleep.

Brackenreid shook his head, grinning. “I’d almost say that’s cute,” he said.

Murdoch nodded, watching him breathe gently. He would look forward to spending Christmas day with George and his ‘aunts,’ and Christmas Eve with the Brackenreids. He’d be watching every single day for Julia’s owl.

George was right, Christmas was  _ weird. _ Christmas was, beyond the religious traditions, little better than a collective delusion that the world suffered from every year. Winter isn’t warm and bright, people aren’t naturally giving or generous, and candles in trees are actually a pretty big fire hazard, but every year, the world believed otherwise. The weird thing was, everyone believed that delusion, and that almost made it true, didn’t it?

William smiled. He wasn’t upset anymore about Suzannah not being here for Christmas this year. His old traditions with her were fond memories, but he would have to make new ones this year. He lay down on the hardwood floors, wrapping himself in a scratchy blanket. He looked at Julia, snuggled on the sofa, and at Thomas, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes, looking forward to what the morning would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that, since this is ambiguously set in modern-ish times (because while I am definitely a big enough nerd to research the Hogwarts staff during the late 1800s and early 1900s, I also don't want to have to write that), and since it would be very difficult for a group of unmarried women, regardless of profession, to adopt a child, George would probably be in the foster care system. In my AU, he's only been with his aunts a year or so before going off to Hogwarts.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, the breakdown of why I picked which houses for which characters:
> 
> MURDOCH: I don't think this needs explaining, but he's a Ravenclaw through and through. Enough said.
> 
> JULIA: While one could argue that she could be confidently placed in Ravenclaw, I feel that her ambition is her primary driving factor, and so that's the main reason I place her in Slytherin.
> 
> BRACKENREID: Gryffindor. I can't imagine him fitting nicely into any other house, he's just pure Gryffindor to me.
> 
> HIGGINS: I fell like Higgins' stupid impulsiveness works well with Gryffindor tendencies, and the way he back-talks demonstrates quite a bold side.
> 
> GEORGE: Probably the one that might be the most controversial. I personally see George as a pure Hufflepuff. He's guileless, sweet, and hard-working. He obviously places the well-being of others above his own (Edna Brooks situation, breaking up with Emily, helping Murdoch and getting SHOT in the process) and he's easily the most loyal of the bunch. To me, that's 100% Hufflepuff.
> 
> EMILY: Another hard one, and I was about to put her in Gryffindor, but ultimately decided to place her in Slytherin for similar reasons to Julia. Also, I mainly wanted that same close relationship from the show to play out here, and that's not as easy when they're in different houses.
> 
> MARGARET: I literally cannot see Mrs. B being anywhere else.


End file.
